


Twelve Days Of Destiel

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - High School, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Just Add Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve self-contained Christmas fics, all written for prompts chosen through a contest I ran on Tumblr. I'll post one fic per day (each as a new chapter) until the twenty-fifth. Ratings will vary and the tags will be updated every day to reflect the added fic.</p><p>Day 1: <strong>Bookstore AU</strong> (Rating - General)<br/>Day 2: <strong>Kid Fic</strong> (Rating - General)<br/>Day 3: <strong>Boarding School AU, Friends to Lovers</strong> (Rating - Teen)<br/>Day 4: <strong>Bunker Fic</strong> (Rating - Explicit)<br/>Day 5: <strong>Bakery AU</strong> (Rating - General)<br/>Day 6: <strong>Subway AU</strong> (Rating - Teen)<br/>Day 7: <strong>Five Christmases</strong> (Rating - Teen)<br/>Day 8: <strong>College AU, Holiday Party</strong> (Rating - Teen)<br/>Day 9: <strong>Bunker Fic, Human Cas' First Christmas</strong> (Rating - General)<br/>Day 10: <strong>High School AU</strong> (Rating - General)<br/>Day 11: <strong>Snowstorm AU</strong> (Rating - General)<br/>Day 12: <strong>Wing Fic</strong> (Rating - Teen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shopping

Dean’s strategy for shopping is simple:

1\. Enter the store  
2\. Locate the item  
3\. Purchase the item  
4\. Leave the store

There’s no browsing or window shopping, no time set aside to ‘try things on.’ He always goes to the same stores anyway, to buy new plaid, jeans, and boots to replace his old plaid, jeans, and boots.

So Jess’ text, when it comes, sort of throws a wrench into things.

He asked her to find out what Sam might like for Christmas, wanting to spoil his little brother for a change. Of course, he should’ve guessed that Sam would ask for a  _book_ , and not just any book from the looks of the title. (There’s a semi-colon in it for Christ’s sake.) It sounds obscure and old, the sort of book whose first draft was written with a quill. But this is what Sammy wants and being related to a nerd is apparently his lot in life, so Dean sighs and opens his laptop to find the names of all the bookstores within a ten-mile radius.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

By the twenty-third, Dean is in a panic. He’s been to a dozen different bookstores, even venturing into the realm of  _online_  shopping, but he’s read the phrase ‘No longer in print’ so many times that the unused roll of wrapping paper is really starting to laugh at him.

Now, if his life were like a movie, he’d stumble upon a quaint bookstore and the book would be waiting there, propped on a stand in the window. His real life, however, is as far from a movie as it could get, so instead of some great little soundtrack by Hans Zimmer, Dean has bookstore addresses filling up his GPS. He’s also very much gift-less.

By Christmas Eve, Dean has everyone else taken care of. There’s a hunting vest for his dad, a knitted sweater for his mom, a Hitchcock classics box set for Jess, and a tech-y thing he picked up for Charlie at Best Buy. There are others too, for Benny and Bobby, Ellen and Jo, but the book is still missing and Dean is running against the clock.

He tries the university district again, the hipsterish street in particular with the coffeeshops and vintage stores, the chalkboard signs and scarves  _everywhere_. He missed those blocks the last few times and pins his hopes on finding a bookstore there, and lo and behold once he passes the third café, he spots a sign that says A Novel Idea and a window display filled with titles.

‘Twentieth time’s the charm,’ Dean thinks, and pushes the door open to head inside.

A bell jingles overhead and he’s greeted by the smell of ink and old pages. The store is charming as though it did, in fact, pop out of a movie, and the books are stacked and shelved in organized chaos on every usable surface.

The place isn’t empty. There are patrons milling about, no doubt engaged in some last-minute (read: frantic) shopping like Dean, but it’s not that difficult to track down an employee, a blonde girl with a name tag tacked to her shirt.

“Can I help you?” asks the girl - Claire, according to the tag. She’s got a braid in her hair and smoky eyes that blink ‘Don’t mess with me.’

“Yeah, I’m… looking for a book.”

“You don’t say,” she quips. It sounds like she wanted to go with ‘No shit, Sherlock’ instead.

Dean clears his throat. Since when did teenage girls become so intimidating? “Yeah, well. Here’s the, uh…” He fishes the Post-It out of his pocket and hands it over to Claire. Her purple nail polish pops against the yellow paper as she hums, arching an eyebrow at the title, which- Dean can certainly relate.

“I don’t know if I’ve seen this one but my uncle would know for sure. Hold on a sec.” Claire disappears quickly behind the nearest stacks, and Dean catches two voices - hers and a much deeper one. Then there are footsteps, just a pair of them walking back, and Dean stares awkwardly at a copy of  _The Flies_  until-

“I hear you’re looking for a book?”

The voice is deeper up close, almost resounding, and when Dean turns around he sees stark blue eyes and day-old stubble. The guy’s hair is also a wreck, as though he rolled out of bed and came straight to work, and he’s wearing a long-sleeve tee with dark, stylishly ripped jeans. They hang low on his hips and Dean is definitely not staring. That would be rude and obvious and he’s here to buy a book. Okay, right. The book.

“Yes,” he replies finally. “Your, uh, niece showed you the title?”

The words ‘She could kill me with a look’ are left unspoken, but the guy laughs anyway, a gentle, pleasant rumble. “Claire attends to the occasional unruly customer so I can’t complain.” His lips quirk as he says this, slow and captivating, and Dean’s mind sort of blanks itself because damn, he is really, insanely attractive.

“I can see that.” Dean licks his lips, mouth feeling dry. “So, do you carry it? The book? You’re-” he sighs. “You’re kinda my last hope.”

The guy smiles, handsome and warm. “In that case, you’re in luck. Follow me.”

Dean feels his heart pick up pace as he does, both at this ridiculously hot stranger and the prospect of getting Sam’s book. They come to a stop in front of a giant, floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and Dean watches long, slender fingers trail along the spines before pulling one out.

“And your search ends here,” he says, placing the book in Dean’s hand. “Pretty heavy reading for the holidays.”

The comment distracts Dean from his instant flood of relief. “Oh, god, it’s not for me,” he laughs. “It’s a gift for my brother. I’ve been trying to find it for weeks.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it then.” The man smiles again and reaches up to adjust his glasses. He’s just hitting all the buttons here and Dean doesn’t consider that fair. “What do you prefer yourself, um…?”

“Oh. Dean.”

“Dean,” he echoes softly. “Do you have any favorites?”

“Sure, yeah. I like Vonnegut, mostly. Was never a fan of the super old classics.” Dean realizes they are now heading back to the check-out counter, but the guy remains attentive like Dean’s telling him something fascinating.

“You can ring him up, Uncle Cas,” Claire says when she sees them. Her gaze appears amused and curious and she spins around a little on her stool.

“Your name’s Cas?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas nods. “Short for Castiel. I suppose I should wear a name tag as well but most people recognize me as the owner regardless. I think it’s the glasses that give it away.”

“Yeah, they’re nice.” Dean flushes as soon as the compliment leaves his mouth.

“Thank you,” Cas replies, and the quirk is back across his lips, lush and pretty and-  _Easy_ , _Dean_.  _Easy_.

Dean forcefully tears his eyes away and swears he hears Claire cough somewhere to their side. He decides to stay silent while he pays for the book, for his own sake and Cas’, who has to be weirded out by now. He takes the shopping bag from Cas, wishes him a Merry Christmas, and the look Claire throws him is nothing if not incredulous but he doesn’t understand why that might be.

He leaves the store and turns left; it’s only a couple of blocks to his parking spot.

Though he’s not really walking. Loitering is more like it, and the patch by his thumb is still warm from where it brushed Cas’ hand. A myriad of thoughts swarm his head in those five minutes.

It  _is_ Christmas Eve, which is all about wishes… or something.

And it  _is_ the holidays and Cas is not a hundred feet away-

Dean turns on his heels and bursts back inside.

Cas is still at the counter. 

Dean goes to him straightaway. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Cas’ eyes widen and Dean thinks abruptly that they’re beautiful. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, I know it’s sudden and it’s Christmas and everything. You’re probably busy, I just…”

“I’m having lunch with my brother’s- Claire and her parents but-”

“But it’s gonna end at like three,” Claire pokes her head around a tall bookcase. “You two could totally have dinner.”

“Claire!” Cas makes a noise between a sigh and a laugh, shrugs at Dean apologetically.

“Is she right?” Dean asks. “You’d be free for dinner tomorrow?”

Cas tilts his head and smiles, and they stare at each other, shy and hopeful. “She is, and I am.”

Dean’s heart all but leaps. “Would you be willing to, um, spend that time with me?”

Cas’ cheeks color and he drops his gaze. “Yes, I would like that,” he says quietly, and then his eyes dart up and he bites on his lower lip.

“Great, that’s- Great.” Dean laughs and it feels like all the air is rushing out of his lungs. “Could I have your number?”

Cas nods and writes it on the back of an old receipt, while Dean offers to cook dinner since it’s probably too late to find a restaurant with open tables. Cas tells him that would be lovely.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Dean says, cradling the receipt in his hand.

“I look forward to it,” Cas smiles, “and I hope your brother enjoys his book.”

Dean had forgotten about the book. He clutches the shopping bag again to remember. “He will.” Sam will, the giant nerd. “So, um, see you tomorrow.”

Cas blushes. “You said that already.”

“Right. Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh, let you get back to your… I’ll just-”

“See you tomorrow,” Cas says fondly.

Dean gives another laugh before walking toward the door, and as he’s about to step out Claire shouts, “You’re  _welcome_ , Dean!” from beside the science fiction.

He salutes her and waves at Cas, whose cheeks are tinted a pleasing pink, and reminds himself to stop for a couple of more presents on the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for smolderingcas' prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105211510703/dean-cas-shopping): "it's Christmas Eve and Dean is at the store rushing to buy presents, Cas is a store employee who helps him"
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	2. Family

Dean meets the boy on a frosty Thursday in November.

Most of his classmates are restless, with recess being cancelled due to ice covering the swings and the monkey bars. Their energy has nowhere to go but out, in the taps of small fingers and knobbly knees bouncing up and down. Dean pays attention though, because he sits in the front and not doing so would be obvious. But more importantly than that, the kid piques his curiosity, so he listens when Ms. Hanscum says, “Class, we have a new student joining us this year.”

He’s skinnier than Dean is with dark hair that sticks up in the back, and there’s an awkwardness about him like he’s wearing someone else’s clothes - swimming in them a little, as a matter of fact. He isn’t pale but seems subdued, and his eyes are the only real shock of color on his delicate face. They’re ocean blue, sky blue, the shade of morning glories blooming in the summer. Either way, they’re the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen on anyone.

His name is Castiel. Castiel Novak, though he goes by Cas. He moved here from Pontiac, Illinois and has three brothers and a sister, all older and in middle school except for the sister who’s in fifth grade. He isn’t shy as far as Dean can tell. He looks at everyone and his voice is steady unlike Becky Rosen’s whenever she has to present for Show and Tell.

“We have a seat ready for you next to Jo,” Ms. Hanscum smiles. She’s really nice and Dean likes her; she smells like pumpkin spice and brings them shortbread cookies when it’s raining.

Castiel- _Cas_ nods at her and walks past Dean on his way down the aisle. Jo’s desk is behind Dean’s and he hears her say hello before turning around himself, watching Cas pull out a pencil from his backpack.

“Hi,” he says, hoping it sounds friendly enough. His mom always tells him to be nice to other kids.

Cas stares back and it’s kind of- Not weird but definitely different, his eyes just so _big_ and making Dean feel like he should’ve cleaned behind his ears or something. Eventually, there’s a “Hello” - soft, simple, and gentle - and a bit more enthusiasm slips into Dean’s words when he adds, “I’m Dean. I’ve got a brother too. His name is Sammy and he’s four.”

The sentences rush out on their own and Jo giggles so Dean shoots her a look. He thinks of pulling on her ponytail even but then Cas replies “Hi, Dean” and that makes him grin really, really wide. Cas smiles back, much smaller but still there, and that’s how they meet in Ms. Hanscum’s second grade class at Lawrence Elementary.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The weather only gets colder, and the school keeps canceling recess. Every day, their class goes into the hallway by the cafeteria, where there are stacks of games on the carpet like Battleship, Connect Four, a deck of Uno with a missing wildcard. Battleship is alright - still lame compared to the jungle gym outside - but Cas seems to like playing Sorry! the best, so Dean grows to think it’s pretty awesome too.

Everything Cas does is awesome.

“What’s your favorite kind of pie?” Dean asks him one day. It’s the week of Thanksgiving and he’s already asked his mom for pumpkin and pecan as well as apple.

Cas tilts his head, hands fidgeting around a red pawn. “Pie?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “‘Cause Thanksgiving is on Thursday. Sometimes I want to skip right to dessert but the other stuff’s good too and I always get sleepy after.”

Cas smiles and it makes Dean forget that it’s raining today. “Which one’s your favorite, Dean?”

“All of ‘em,” Dean grins happily, “but if I have to pick… um…” He taps at his own chin. “Cherry.”

“Cool,” Cas says and it sounds like he really means it.

Dean realizes that Cas never actually answered his question. He lets it go, though, because maybe Cas just doesn’t like pie very much and didn’t want to rain on Dean’s parade. (Cas is nice like that.) But when Thanksgiving comes around and he’s digging into a slice of pumpkin pie - barely visible under the extra whipped cream Uncle Bobby sneaked onto his plate - Dean wonders about Cas and whether he’s full and smiling and warm like Dean is now.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Indoor recess continues into December, improved only by the fact that winter break is starting in two weeks. Dean can’t wait to play in the snow and wants to ask if Cas can come over sometime (maybe every day). They’d make snow angels in his driveway and have snowball fights. Drink hot chocolate.

Then three days before break, Dean goes to school with a bag of twenty-three candy canes. He gives one to everybody in his class plus Ms. Hanscum, and saves the last one for Cas because it’s special and took him an hour to put together. Cas’ isn’t peppermint like the others; the flavor is sweeter and the stripes are red and green. There are googly eyes glued onto it too, and gold pipe cleaner twisted to look like reindeer antlers.

Cas is quiet when Dean hands him the candy cane, just holds it in his palm and chews on his bottom lip. Dean worries that Cas hates it, but then he hears “Thanks” and catches a smile so, so bright, and Dean bounces on his feet a little as Cas hugs the reindeer to his chest.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“Dean,” Cas calls to him the next morning. They’re outside their classroom and it’s five minutes till the bell. “I have something for you,” he says, and soon Dean has a paper candy cane with ‘Merry Christmas, Dean’ written along the side. It’s neat and tidy like all of Cas’ homework and worksheets, except this one is just for Dean and Cas gave it to him and it’s the coolest thing.

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmurs, and when he glances up Cas is blushing. He’s not sure why so he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Cas lowers his eyes to the floor. His lashes are long and dark. “I’m sorry it isn’t real candy. My family… We don’t really exchange presents.”

Dean frowns, but only because he thinks Cas deserves a ton of gifts all the time. “How come?”

“Um, well,” Cas sighs. “There are seven of us and, and it’s a lot of money, I guess.”

“Oh.” Dean stands up a little straighter. “That’s okay. I like this better than real candy anyway.”

Cas peers at him, shy and hopeful. “You do?”

“Uh huh. I can put this on my wall. You can’t thumbtack a candy cane.”

“No, you can’t,” Cas laughs, and it’s sort of Dean’s favorite sound.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

That evening, Dean shows his mom the paper candy cane, telling her what Cas told him about presents.

“But he should get like a bajillion presents, Mom,” he argues. “Cas is the best! He’s never mean like stupid Alastair and he always smells good like, like…” Dean scrunches his nose. “Like vanilla ice cream.”

“Don’t call your classmate ‘stupid,’ sweetheart,” Mom says, and Dean rolls his eyes because that is _so not_ what’s important. And Alastair _is_ stupid. Whatever.

“ _Mom_ ,” he whines. “I was talking about _Cas_.”

His mom smiles at that, reaching into the laundry basket for a stack of his shirts, smartly folded. She sets them on his dresser and turns around, watching him kindly. “Does Cas have plans for Christmas day?” Dean stops pouting. “Would he like to join us for dinner, do you think?”

“I’ll ask him!” Dean exclaims, scrambling off the bed to hug his mom around her knees. “Can I ask now, Mom? Can I call him?”

She laughs and ruffles his hair. “It’s late. You can ask tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dean grins, and presses his cheek against her leg as he nods.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Twelve Years Later**

“That was by far the best Christmas I’d had,” Cas says, tangling his fingers with Dean’s over the console.

Dean turns the car onto a familiar street and grins back, “Better than last year when we were snowed in at our apartment?”

“No, that-” Cas flushes pink. “That was enjoyable in an entirely different way.”

“Mm, yeah, I remember.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me,” Dean hums, bending his arm to kiss their joined hands. He slows down when he spots his house at the end of the cul-de-sac, and they both smile at the colorful lights lining the roof. “Mom called,” he says, pulling into the driveway moments later. “She said she made all your favorite dishes while completely ignoring my humble request for pie.”

Cas smiles softly like he always does when he’s really touched. “I’ll bake you one,” he offers quietly, and Dean leans forward to kiss him, chaste and gentle.

“Hey, before we go in,” he whispers, “I got something for you. It’s in the glove compartment.” Cas looks at him curiously but turns to open it like he asked.

“It’s not Christmas till Thursday,” he muses, pulling out a flat rectangular box. His fingers hover above the bow for a second, though they begin untying it after Dean simply replies, “I know.”

“You spoil me,” he shakes his head, laughing fondly. 

His eyes are huge when he lifts the lid and sees the content.

“Do you remember that, baby?”

“Dean, this is…” Cas reaches down to take the paper out, the ‘Merry Christmas, Dean’ faded but the stripes still red and vivid. “You kept it.”

“‘Course I did,” Dean says proudly. “But that’s not all of it.”

Cas carefully sets the candy cane aside and opens up the tissue paper looking wondrous, so beautiful. He gasps at the object inside and Dean smiles, his own heart hammering and his eyes a little watery.

Because in there is a candy cane with red and green stripes - sugary sweet - and instead of antlers and two googly eyes there’s a ribbon, tied to a ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for woolcas' prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105312082652/dean-cas-family): "dean & cas are around 8 yrs. old and cas is new to the school. he's not as rich as most of the town so they don't celebrate holidays/give gifts. when dean notices & asks why cas isn't in the holiday spirit, he invites cas over to have christmas with the winchesters."
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates, and please do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	3. Campus

There’s this cat that keeps showing up on campus.

She lingers mostly by the dorms - Dean’s dorm to be exact. Her eyes track his every exit and entrance throughout the day, and he always gives a wide berth because she’s clearly feral, on edge with no collar.

It’s probably unwise to feed her, so naturally all of his classmates do, and soon it becomes this full-on smuggling operation where milk and tuna salad gain suspicious, sudden popularity in the dining hall.

Charlie names her Uhura after a month, and Dean is shocked that it actually catches on. Then again, considering that their school is nerd central, maybe the gusto for Star Trek shouldn’t warrant any surprise.

He’s just wary of naming a stray animal, that’s all. Naming stirs attachment, and when- _Fine_ , when _Uhura_ decides to leave them in search of greener pastures, there’ll be fretting and moping, which Dean will have to quell with rational thought.

So he doesn’t pet her, or talk to her, and outright refuses to coo at her like Gabe seems to do far too often. He also never shares his mini milk cartons with the cat either, and that’s completely unrelated to the fact that he prefers chocolate milk and heard somewhere that chocolate’s like, toxic for cats or whatever.

Just- Dean never feeds the cat.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas _always_ feeds the cat.

Castiel, Gabe’s younger brother and Dean’s best friend, savior to homeless felines and collector of cat-themed socks. He wore a pair with screen-printed kitten faces on their first move-in day two years ago, and after that Dean simply took every design in stride, from fishbones to catnip, orange cats, grey cats, black cats, he’s seen them all.

Even the one with fuzzy paws on the soles.

But the point is that Cas feeds Uhura, and not contraband either but these fancy cans he buys (legally) from Amazon. The ingredients are like salmon caught in Alaska and trout trapped humanely in Idaho or something crazy, and they’ve yet to fail at making Uhura materialize from thin air to vacuum the meal, mewling and content.

“I don’t get it, man,” Dean grumbles one afternoon, crouched in the brick courtyard while Cas opens another can. “It’s not like the mooch can even thank you.” He blinks as Uhura manifests out of a bush and leaps onto the bench. That’s another thing. They’re squatting and she’s up on the bench. What is his life?

“But she does thank me,” Cas argues, and to Dean’s horror he starts scratching the cat behind her ears. “In her own way,” he adds serenely, and as if to prove this, Uhura purrs and rubs her head against his hand. “See?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Congratulations, you’ve now contracted rabies.”

“ _Dean_.” Cas sighs like a martyr and they watch Uhura inhale the food; the flavor is turkey and giblets today. “You’ll warm up to her. I know you don’t feel as hostile toward her as you sound.” There’s a hum in his voice as though he’s sure that his instinct is right. He pets the cat again and she hums too.

Dean just hands him the Purell.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The concerns start snowballing after Thanksgiving.

They’re in the four-person suite that Dean shares with Cas, Benny, and Garth, and there’s a bunch of whining in the air courtesy of fourteen-year-old Sam Winchester.

“She’s gonna freeze outside!” Sam exclaims. He’s distraught and flailing and his skinny knee jabs Dean in the flank. Dean throws a pen at him and says, “Go play with the other ninth graders.” Sam pulls bitch face number eight.

“He’s right though,” Charlie says. “Even if she’s an outdoor cat, it’s still winter. In New England.”

“No place for man or feline,” Benny drawls.

“Well, it’s not like we can have pets,” Dean huffs. “I mean, Uriel’s hissy fits aside, she’s a _stray_. And what about when we go on winter break, huh? Is Benny gonna take her to Louisiana?” He scans the room challengingly and Benny clears his throat while the rest put on puppy dog eyes. Cas’ are the worst though: wide, blue, and adorable.

Wait a minute.

“Couldn’t we hide her here?” Cas asks quietly. He’s pouting and Dean feels crazy - because he wants to kiss the pout away and has no clue where the hell this is coming from. Because since when is he attracted to Cas?

“Cas, c’mon,” he tries weakly. “You know the rules.”

Charlie mutters “Yeah, ‘cause you’re such a stickler for them” right as Cas sighs and says, “No, you’re right.” He sounds sad and worried and Dean wants to kick himself.

He’s also incredibly confused about his best friend.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Break begins two weeks later and Dean is packing in his room when Cas comes in. He saunters to the bed without any sort of cue from Dean, and sits on the overstuffed bag to give Dean some hope at zipping up the damn thing.

Dean’s struggling with the second corner when a thought abruptly dawns on him. He lets go and glances at Cas. The zip slides back a few inches but he doesn’t care. “Didn’t Gabe leave this morning?”

“He did.” Cas’ expression is blank.

Dean keeps on staring. “And?”

Cas shrugs like it’s no big deal. “And I’m not going home.”

“… Since when?”

“Since we were assigned that giant paper on the _Iliad_. It’s difficult to concentrate at home with everyone around.”

Dean doesn’t buy the excuse. “Dude, you never have trouble concentrating on homework.”

“Well, maybe I’m having trouble now, okay?” Cas’ shoulders slump, resigned, and Dean wants to hug him, hold him. _Something_.

“Are you even allowed to stay here?”

“Yes.” Cas peers down at his hands. “I got permission from Housing two weeks ago.”

Dean feels like he’s been punched. “You… You’ve known for two _weeks_ and you didn’t tell-”

Cas looks up, his eyes huge and wet. “Please don’t be mad,” he pleads, barely a whisper. “If you were mad at me too, I’d… I couldn’t…”

“Cas, what-” Dean makes a frustrated noise, rubbing a hand over his face. “This isn't about some paper. What’s going on?”

But Cas clams up again and looks away. “Nothing.”

“… Fine,” Dean says. Not angry, just anxious. He observes the slope of Cas’ frame, the depth of his fretful eyes, and he makes up his mind by the time Cas is biting on his lower lip, all tense. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave, okay?”

Cas nods and Dean heads out the door, crosses the suite till he’s in the empty hallway. He fishes for his phone and dials a number by heart, and it’s another three rings before she picks up.

“Hi, hon,” his mom answers. There’s rustling in the background, the clink of pans; she must be baking. “Are you and Sam all set?”

Dean shoves his free hand into a pocket so he won’t fidget. “Um. Actually, that’s… what I’m calling about.”

“Is everything alright?” she asks, voice softening instinctively. The peripheral noises stop as she pauses to listen.

“No,” Dean blurts too quickly. “I mean, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just- Mom, it’s Cas. He… He’s not going home.”

The line is quiet for a moment, then his mom says, “Did he tell you why?”

Dean leans heavily against the wall. “Not the real reason, no.” He kicks morosely at the carpet. “Mom, I… You know I miss you guys a lot and- I know it’s like three months till spring break but I… Mom, he’s not okay.”

She sighs, but it’s very fond, empathetic. “Do you want to stay with him?”

“… Can I?”

“It won’t be the same without you here,” she admits easily, “but it sounds like he needs you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he murmurs. His voice is wavering and his throat feels tight. “And I’m sorry.”

She chuckles and he imagines her waving a hand at the apology. “I’ll call Sam now and explain. You go be there for Cas.” He thanks her again and she adds, “Remember not to push for more than he’s willing to share.”

Dean can hear her smiling when he tells her “I love you.”

His footsteps are lighter as he heads inside. Cas hasn’t left, thank god, still sitting on Dean’s suitcase, a sight that only now registers as totally ridiculous. The giant suitcase makes Cas seem a lot smaller though, and Dean can’t stand how vulnerable he looks.

“What should we do?”

Cas startles out of his daze, frowning at the question. “I don’t understand.”

Dean walks over to his desk to plug his laptop back in. “Wanna watch a movie? I know Charlie’s Netflix password.”

“But Dean, your flight-”

“Change of plans.”

“… Dean,” Cas says, realization crossing his face. The expression quickly shifts to guilt and Dean rushes over to put an end to it. Cas refuses to meet his eyes so Dean places a hand on each shoulder and waits until he relents. God, Cas’ eyes are so blue - and beautiful.

“Hey, stop that. This isn’t ‘cause I feel sorry for you, alright? I’d just hate for you to be alone _and_ be deprived of my presence on top of that. It’s the holidays, for Christ’s sake.”

“… The holidays bring out your modesty, Dean.”

Cas is smiling, soft and tentative. Dean smiles back and nudges his arm. “There he is. So. Movie?”

The relief is immeasurable when Cas says, “Sure.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Dean moves his suitcase into Cas’ room, since he’s technically not supposed to be on campus. His mom must have explained things really well to Sam, because his brother calls and simply says, “Hope Cas is okay. Don’t do anything stupid, Dean.”

His dad also calls to ask whether he’ll have enough food to last him till January, and Dean assures him that he will even though he has no idea where the food’s gonna come from. Fortunately for him, Cas has an interim meal plan, and he always brings back two servings’ worth for them to share.

It’s nice, having the dorm to themselves. They talk, do some work, watch four movies back-to-back until they’re dozing on the bed, bellies full. On the fifth night, Cas’ head tips onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean curls into his friend’s warmth with the stupidest smile stretched across his lips.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

On the eighth day, Dean leaves the dorm with Cas when he heads to the dining hall to grab their lunch. Dean waits in the courtyard, though, because he can’t go in the dining hall anyway, and he’s enjoying the crunch of snow beneath his boots when there’s a cry from the bushes, fragile and high-pitched.

It sounds familiar. It sounds like-

Dean parts the leaves with his gloved hands, and there she is - Uhura - lying in the snow and dirt.

She mewls at him and generally looks pitiful.

He sighs and turns around to head inside.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Her ears are flat when he scoops her up, the dampness on her body immediately soaking into the towel. Still, she appears happy that it’s no longer snow rubbing into her fur, and he definitely doesn’t cradle her as he takes her into the building.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas nearly drops the food when he sees them on the couch.

“… You have Uhura.”

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” Dean grumbles grouchily. “She was making dying noises, so.”

Cas sets the to-go containers on the table and sits beside Dean, smiling sweetly. “I won’t say ‘I told you so.’”

Dean scrunches his nose. “You kinda did just now.”

Cas laughs softly. “Right. I guess I did.” He lifts a hand and runs it through Dean’s hair, tender and gentle.

Neither perceives what’s happening until the gesture sinks in and they both freeze.

Cas drops his hand, Dean drops his gaze, and they’re silent save for Uhura meowing helplessly.

Cas practically jumps off the couch. “Um. I’ll… I’ll go back and get a few milk cartons.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds…”

The suite door shuts behind Cas and Dean groans, feeling woefully pathetic and inadequate. He looks to Uhura for a dose of feline sympathy, but she appears thoroughly unimpressed and bends down to lick her paw.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

It’s not awkward, per se.

They still watch movies and pig out, finish their papers while it’s snowing outside. They play with Uhura and Cas tries to overnight canned food from Amazon, and judging from that perspective, not much has changed at all.

On the flip side, Cas now flushes when their hands brush by accident, pulls back while Dean stares at the empty air where Cas’ hand had been. He’s hyperaware of Cas’ movements and warmth, and all he wants is to pull Cas into his arms when they sleep. It would feel so good to lie chest to chest, or to have Cas’ head tucked underneath his chin. He wants this so badly that he can’t even sleep, and Cas just looks increasingly worried for him with each new morning.

It all comes to a head on Christmas Eve.

Dean finds Cas in the common room on the couch, with Uhura in his lap and his own head bowed, deep in thought. He seems fine from a distance, and he’s petting the cat soft and slow, but the sniffling becomes obvious as Dean gets closer - as do the tears.

“Cas?”

Dean joins him on the couch and immediately pulls Cas into a hug. His heart plummets when Cas’ body slumps like a dead weight. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“My father called.”

“Oh,” Dean frowns. He’s aware of Cas’ strained relationship with his father. “What happened?” Cas is quiet and Dean pulls back a little, just enough to see Cas’ face and wipe the wetness on his cheek with his thumb. “Does it have something to do with you not going home?”

Cas is trembling so Dean gives his arm a squeeze, a tell that he’s listening, not leaving, never leaving.

“Yes,” Cas whispers eventually. “Dean, I…” He sighs, a shaky release of breath. “I came out to my parents on Thanksgiving.”

Dean blinks. Then blinks again. “… What?”

Cas lowers his eyes and leans forward to rest his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. His next words are muffled by Dean’s sweatshirt. “I told my parents that I’m gay. And my father- He told me I wasn’t welcome in our house for winter break. He... asked how we could go to church as a family when I’m… I’m…”

Dean wraps his arms around Cas and just holds him. “Your dad’s a prick,” he grits. “He had _no right_ to…” God, he’s so _angry_.

“You don’t hate me?”

It’s so quiet and preposterous that Dean almost laughs. “Cas, why the hell would I hate you?” He loosens his embrace and shifts back again until they’re face to face, his heart racing hard. “ _How_ could I hate you? You’re…”

Cas rubs a sleeve over his cheek. It’s frighteningly adorable. “I’m what?”

“… You’re _Cas_ ,” Dean says finally, and reaches up to cradle Cas’ face with both hands. “You’re Castiel, my best friend,” he smiles, “and I really want you to be my boyfriend too.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

It isn’t awkward anymore.

Everything else is the same, except now they make out lazily on the bed, the couch, everywhere. They feed Uhura and read and talk, and then Dean crowds Cas against the nearest surface to kiss him and kiss him until their lips are spit-slick and red.

On Christmas, Dean has that much more reason to kiss Cas senseless, and so he does before showing him a package wrapped in Santa-dotted paper. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Cas’ mouth parts prettily in surprise. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I got this before we were, _you know_ , so it doesn’t even count. Just open it.”

“… Alright,” Cas concedes, and unwraps the gift carefully, smiling the entire time. Dean watches him with the utmost attention, and grins when the smile broadens on his face.

It’s a pair of wool slippers, the nice kind that won’t slide off your feet. They’re [grey with an embroidered cat and a ball of red yarn](http://i.imgur.com/ccIxlUC.jpg), and Cas slips them on right away, tapping his feet against the floor.

“In case your socks aren’t warm enough,” Dean says.

Cas rises a little on his toes to kiss him. “I love them,” he murmurs.

Dean smiles and kisses back.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

They’re a tangle of limbs on the bed that evening, with some movie on at a low volume and Uhura curled up at the foot of the mattress. She’s resting on a corner of the Snuggie - the Star Wars Snuggie that Cas bought for Dean. She’s asleep but Dean is blissfully unaware of that and everything, because Cas is threading their fingers together, gazing at them as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Dean whispers against his temple that it’s going to be alright, that his family will come around, that he’ll be there for Cas no matter what happens. He only stops talking when Cas turns his head to kiss him, and Dean sighs into it, so happy, because this is his best friend and he’s in love.

They’re in love, probably have been for longer than they realize.

But now. Now Dean knows, and he really can't wait to find out what’s in store for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by bluebirdcastiel's and hipsterishcas' prompts on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105404353980/dean-cas-campus). I say "inspired" because I took a lot of liberties with the framework they gave me, which was basically Dean and Cas being stuck on campus for winter break (plus, "add a cat"). I really enjoyed writing this, though, so I hope they do too as well as all of you.
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	4. Eggnog

Sam put far too much rum in the eggnog.

Cas isn’t sure whether it was an honest miscalculation, but when Dean leans into side, mumbling inane nothings against his neck, Cas decides that it doesn’t really matter either way.

“Cas…” Dean says softly, hands curling into fists in Cas' red hoodie. His cheeks are flushed from alcohol and heat, the flames in the fireplace crackling and warm. Cas just stares because he doubts that there’s anything more endearing. “Hey,” Dean pulls back and pouts, “you listenin’ to me?”

“Hmm?” Cas smiles guiltily; he wasn’t aware that Dean had been talking.

Dean huffs and becomes grabby again, insinuating himself onto Cas’ lap. Cas steadies him reflexively with a palm on either side of his waist, and watches the white tree lights dance in those moss green eyes.

“You’re not paying attention,” Dean says, and there’s a slight slur to his words as he twines his arms around Cas’ neck. He tugs a little and Cas goes with it, shifts closer until their noses lightly bump.

“That’s impossible,” Cas replies, and tightens his hold on Dean’s waist to prove his point. He feels Dean’s smile, the drag of their stubbled jaws, and there’s practically no space between their bodies, flush together.

“Liar,” Dean accuses, though it’s all play and no bite with his breath so sugary sweet.

The taste makes Cas groan when Dean captures his lips and licks into his mouth, slow and hot.

It takes a lot more than spiked eggnog for Cas to be drunk, and his tolerance is what affords him the chance to catch all of Dean’s cute, inebriated antics. Right now, though, he feels drunk - drunk from the touch and taste of Dean’s lips - and Cas brings both hands up to cradle Dean’s face, fingers slipping behind his ears, into his hair.

The locks are soft between his fingers and his nails scratch against Dean’s skin, just lightly. The low purr Dean gives in response is enough to send a shudder rippling down Cas’ spine.

“Mm, paying attention yet?” Dean asks. They’ve finally moved apart, Dean’s mouth shiny and abused-looking. Cas runs a thumb over its curve and Dean sighs, deep and content.

“You always have my attention, Dean,” Cas says. There’s a burning in his lungs with how breathless he is from their kiss, but it’s easy to forget that when Dean nips gently at his thumb, all seductive.

“I do, huh?” 

Dean quirks his mouth in a way that Cas could never get enough of, and Cas’ voice is like gravel as he answers “Of course” and brings Dean back to him with insistent hands.

They kiss for what feels like hours, teeth and tongue and heat and spark. Dean writhes in his lap, ever impatient, whines prettily at the back of his throat and Cas swallows each sound with painstaking focus.

“Want you,” Dean breathes, giving Cas’ shoulders an eager push. The vibrant green of his eyes has reduced to thin lines around darker pupils, and Dean looks intoxicated on not just alcohol and Cas’ head is spinning fast. “C’mon, babe,” Dean smiles wryly. “It’s Christmas.” He leans in to press teasing kisses along Cas’ neck. “Can’t deny wishes on Christmas.”

Cas can’t help the laugh that falls onto Dean’s cheek. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to Dean, Christmas or not.

Dean must sense the compliance because he shifts his weight back, trying to pull Cas down with him. Cas doesn’t relent this time, and instead changes direction so that he ends up on his back on the floor, Dean straddling his hips above him.

“The floor would have been cold for you,” he explains, matter-of-fact. Shielding Dean has always been an instinct, second nature, but Dean blushes anyway and rolls his eyes.

“I saw that,” Cas chides, tugging Dean close by his shirt until they’re barely an inch apart. He frames Dean’s face again with both hands and gazes at him steadily, offering Dean no opportunity to look away. “Why does that bother you?”

Dean huffs, hands trailing up to Cas’ chest to keep his balance. “‘m not a princess,” he mutters eventually.

Cas smiles. “I know.” His thumbs brush across Dean’s cheekbones, high and proud. “I just… You’re wonderful.”

Dean scoffs but he’s hindered from looking away, tethered by Cas’ eyes and hands. He opens his mouth, a protest on the tip of his tongue, then closes it when he realizes that Cas won’t take any of it back - that he meant every word.

Cas always means every word.

“You’re wonderful, Dean,” Cas says, relieved that Dean’s not shying away anymore. “You’re so good for me.”

Dean’s eyes are softer now, still wide and heated but calmer. “If you say so,” he concedes with a sigh. It’s the closest Dean will get to accepting praise and Cas just replies, “I know so,” which earns him a rueful smile.

“Are you done embarrassing me then?” Dean slinks off of Cas’ body all cat-like, removing his clothes in a series of hasty movements that manages to look graceful regardless. His skin glows under the lights when he’s naked and back on Cas’ thighs, and Cas feels his breath catch at Dean’s hands reaching for his fly, unzipping quickly.

It’s a frantic, intense buildup after that, the air around them hot from the fire and the sweat on their skin. Dean is touching everywhere, mouthing at Cas’ jaw, shoving his jeans out of the way, and Cas nearly pulls the skirt from beneath the tree at the first stroke of Dean’s hand on his cock; he didn’t even know that he’d been clutching it.

“God, Cas,” Dean moans, only tearing himself away when he goes to fish a small satchel out of his discarded track pants. If Cas weren’t so far gone, he would’ve registered the amusement at Dean’s level of preparedness, but all he can focus on is the sultry roll of the hunter’s hips, the gorgeous way that Dean takes him into his heat.

“Dean,” Cas pants, his entire body singing with pleasure. “Dean, you- You feel amazing.”

Unlike Cas, Dean seems to be at a loss for words, and Cas slowly props himself onto his elbows to watch. Dean’s head is hanging forward, his teeth chewing his lips till they’re bright red, and every few moments, those lips wetly part, letting out the moans and whimpers he can’t contain no matter how hard he tries. His fingers claw desperately into Cas’ chest in the meantime, and Cas imagines he’ll have a constellation of half-moon bruises to remember this by.

Cas loses himself in watching, his own fingers roaming to chase the tremors and quakes under Dean’s skin. He also pushes back on every third or fourth thrust, just the way Dean likes to be fucked, and Dean counters each one with equal force and appreciative noises.

“Mm, so good, Cas,” Dean mumbles hotly. His thighs are shaking and, with how often they’ve done this, Cas knows that Dean is close, the arousal nearly blinding.

With no need for prompting, Cas curls his hand around Dean’s cock where it curves and leaks against his stomach. The second his fingers make contact Dean whimpers, arms giving out, and his rhythm starts to falter as though he isn’t sure whether to focus on Cas’ hand or the shaft stretching him open.

“Cas. _Cas_ , I’m-” Dean breathes into his ear, rough and ragged, and Cas wraps an arm around him, turns his head. “Shh, Dean, you can let go. I got you.”

Cas feels like he’s bursting out of his skin when Dean comes, coating his fingers pulsing and wet and the tension traveling right down to where they’re connected, tight and throbbing. Dean doesn’t stop moaning his name, just says it again and again like a chant, and Cas can’t resist sucking a hickey into Dean’s neck as he plants both feet on the floor and shoves back up.

Dean is all but plastered against him now, draped and boneless and Cas holds him just as he is. His muscles continue to clench around Cas, greedy for more even though he’s already come, and it only takes half a dozen thrusts for Cas to finish, slamming his hips upward and crushing Dean’s body close to his. A dry sob escapes his throat, and he spills his release with a groan that sounds like ‘Dean.’

For a moment, it’s very quiet, save for the fire and their hearts hammering in their cages.

“Oh, god,” Dean says breathlessly, and Cas can merely grunt in agreement with his ears still ringing, hips somehow still flexing. He sort of feels like he’s floating until Dean lifts his head and grounds him with a fond look.

Their noses bump once more when they kiss, lips opening and sliding and Dean’s teeth biting at Cas’ lower lip. He lets it go easily and they smile at each other, warm and sated.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean whispers first, and Cas can hear the unspoken sentiments within it: ‘I love you.’ ‘I need you.’ ‘I’m thankful that we have this. That we finally figured it out.’

Dean is looking at him with love, so Cas looks back in wonder, and answers the hunter with what immediately comes to mind.

“I love you, Dean.”

He means every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for she-wants-the-d-ickens' prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105483392865/dean-cas-eggnog): "Dean and Cas accidentally getting drunk on eggnog and having sex on the floor romantically by the fire?"
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	5. Neighbors

All things considered, Dean thinks that he really lucked out with his apartment. It’s not incredibly spacious, but he just needs room for himself and basic furniture anyway, and what’s important is that the landlord isn’t a maniac, as well as the fact that his work commute is only four minutes. 

He supposes that’s a waste for Baby, because driving less than half an hour per day isn’t nearly enough mileage to stretch out her legs. But he has his summer road trips with Sammy to take care of that, and like he said, the insanely short drive to work is a blessing, especially since he has to leave his apartment at four am. 

Dean is a baker, and a damn good one at that. He owns The Pie Chart downtown and fills his displays with half a dozen different pies and an assortment of pastries like danishes and éclairs. He has a loyal following of patrons, students and most of the locals, sometimes out the door in the mornings and those are the days that he’s most proud of. 

It was an adjustment to get used to the lifestyle at first. There was once a time when he would see twelve am on the clock and say, “The night is young.” But now, late nights and sleeping in are basically memories of the past, and let the record show that Dean Winchester’s current bed time is nine-thirty - ten at the very latest. 

Which is why it’s important that he has decent neighbors. 

He was extremely lucky on that front too; no party animals or crazed sex rabbits or, god forbid, bass music connoisseurs. Instead, the apartment right above his belongs to Charlie, a LARPing enthusiast who works in I.T. And in the summers, when the weather gets warm enough, she’ll sit out by the community pool and sip Red Bull from a martini glass while she competes in hack-a-thons - for fun. (She promised Dean that she’ll never hack into his Facebook, but he’s not a hundred percent sure that it hasn’t already happened.) 

Next door to him on the left are the Lafittes, Benny and Andrea, transports from Louisiana. They often invite Dean over for dinner, and the first time they did, Dean actually drooled _while_ eating Benny’s catfish and it was the only time he ever felt worried that the pie he brought wouldn’t live up to expectations. Fortunately, they both loved his strawberry rhubarb, and it became a little tradition of theirs for Dean to bring dessert.

He’s gotten to know his other neighbors too: Garth across the hall, Jody down the hall, and Uriel who makes the elevator rides super awkward but otherwise mostly keeps to himself. 

And then there’s Castiel. 

In the almost three years that Dean has lived here, he’s talked to the guy maybe ten times, rounding up. It’s not that those conversations had gone badly or anything. In fact, Castiel is what you’d call ‘disarmingly nice’ and it took Dean all but two seconds to see that he is also gorgeous.

Honestly, it’s not even fair. Who does he think he is with that dark, tousled hair and shockingly blue eyes? Sometimes, Dean will find himself reminded of their color throughout the day - a flower in the florist’s window, or the sky on a particularly clear afternoon - though no matter what Dean comes across, it seems to cover mere fractions of all the shades in Castiel’s eyes. 

So the problem is, then, that they run into each other at the most inconvenient times. 

Dean would be coming home with an armful of groceries, right as Castiel is heading out to dinner. Or Castiel would be in a hurry to take out the trash, while Dean is returning to his apartment with his mail. Neither case offers much chance for conversation, and they always end with Castiel telling him, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Dean.” 

The invitation for coffee and pie is always, _always_ on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

 

◇ ◇ ◇ 

 

Things start to change a little on a morning in early November, when Dean looks out the bakery window and sees Castiel on the street in his running clothes. Dean didn’t know his neighbor was a runner - he’s certainly never seen the guy take this path - but then Castiel catches his eye and waves, leaving Dean with no better choice than to wave back. 

He then starts to see Castiel every morning, always in his running clothes, always sweaty and flushed. But like clockwork, around ten after nine, Castiel stops outside the bakery and smiles, and Dean mirrors the expression and waves, moving on with his day feeling warmer and quite a bit lighter. 

He wishes that Castiel would come inside, though he gets that pastries must be like, a runner’s worst enemy. He wonders if it’s difficult for Castiel to pass by the aroma and just _pass by_ , and briefly considers adding a salad to his menu. 

He’d make only one each day though, and it would be reserved for a runner named Castiel.

 

◇ ◇ ◇ 

 

Everything changes with the doorbell. 

It’s three days before Christmas and Dean is practically swimming in holiday orders. He had to ask his friend Jo to help him out, and she was the one who shooed Dean home to get some shut eye. He would’ve been grateful for the rest - lord knows he needs it - except he’s rudely interrupted when the doorbell rings right as he’s about to drift off. 

He opens the door without bothering to check who it is. “Yes?” he answers grumpily. 

His doorway is empty and Dean sighs because if this was a prank, he swears to god- 

“What-” His foot catches on something and he looks down, and it’s a package, one of those letter-sized padded envelopes. Someone must’ve let the delivery guy into the building.  

Dean picks it up, surprised by the weight, and is even more surprised when he flips it around and sees ‘Castiel Novak’ on the address label. 

“Oh,” he murmurs to himself, reading the name over and over. He spends another moment like that, unmoving, just staring, and when he comes to a decision he steps back inside, checking his reflection in the entryway mirror before walking to the apartment next door. 

He rings Castiel’s doorbell, unsure if the guy is even home, but then he hears some shuffling and the telltale click of the lock. 

“Dean?” 

It’s a lucky thing that he’s holding onto the envelope so tightly, because Dean would’ve definitely dropped it if that weren’t the case. 

Castiel looks unbelievable, his lips chapped but pink, a sexy stubble screening his jaw. His hair appears sleep-mussed, disheveled like he’s been pushing a hand through it all morning, and the shirt he has on seems so, so soft; Dean wants to curl his fingers in the fabric and pull him close. 

“Hey, uh-” He can do exactly none of that right now, obviously. “This was left at my door but…” He hands the envelope over, address-side up. “Think the delivery guy confused 505 for 507.” 

Castiel squints at the label and Dean is hopeless if he thinks even that is adorable - which he does. “Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, as though Dean just did him a huge favor. “This was the manuscript I was waiting for.” 

“Manuscript?” 

“Yes, I’m a book editor,” Castiel smiles. “It’s the reason I’m rarely home. I find it easier to work back at the office.” 

“And you… run.” 

Dean is usually so much more eloquent than this. 

Castiel blushes a little, the pink faint but still coloring his cheeks prettily. “Yes, I used to run in the park but I… I recently changed my… course.” 

Dean’s mind swims with the possibilities of what that could mean. “I hope I’m not distracting you or anything. I know the whole block can smell like pies in the morning.” 

Castiel tucks the envelope into the crook of his arm and leans against the doorframe. “It’s definitely a challenge. I do have quite the sweet tooth.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh, believe me. If I went into your bakery during a run, you could never get me to leave.” 

‘I wouldn’t want you to leave,’ Dean wants to say, but instead he suggests, “You could always drop by later in the day. Plenty of people come in and stay for a bit to finish work and- You know, whatever those students do. Facebook, probably.” 

Castiel huffs out a laugh then bites his lip, as if contemplating the offer. “I suppose I could use a change of scene… especially now that my next assignment’s here.” 

“That’s good. I mean, a change of scene is… always…” Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. “It’s good.” 

“I agree.” Castiel shifts on his feet and suddenly looks shy. “Is your bakery open today?” 

“It is. I have a friend of mine filling in for me but I’m going in this afternoon. Did you want, um.” Dean can’t remember the last time he felt so flustered. “We could- I mean, if you’d like to bring your work with you, we could…” 

“Sure,” Castiel says, smiling up at Dean through his lashes. “As long as it won’t be a bother.” 

“It won’t,” Dean assures him. “Trust me, it won’t.” 

“Okay,” comes the quiet reply, and Dean wonders if he should pinch himself. Just to check in case he’d actually fallen asleep. “I realize I haven’t tried your pies yet.” 

Dean blinks. “Oh, man, you’re right.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Cas, not to brag but, I think you’re gonna like the pies. The pecan is especially killer.” 

It dawns on Dean after the words are out that the nickname just came to be and slipped in there, but Cas takes it in stride and doesn’t seem to mind it. 

“I believe you,” he says kindly. “I don’t mind running a few extra miles.”

“I’ll try my best to make them worth it then.” Dean is already thinking about which flavors he’d like to serve first. Pecan for sure, then maybe the peach, or the blueberry.

“Are you busy right now, Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean glances down at his track pants and laughs. “No. I’m not busy.”

“Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

‘Coffee and pie,’ Dean muses happily, and he grins back at his neighbor and replies, “Yeah, that sounds great, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for spiffycastiel's prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105566020155/dean-cas-neighbors): "Cas and Dean have been neighbors for a few years but they've never really spoken other than the occasional exchange of a "hello" or "how are you?" One morning Dean gets a package addressed to Cas so he goes next door to deliver it. Cas answers the door and he's all sleepy and his hair is a mess and his clothes are wrinkled and Dean gets all flustered and cuteness ensues."
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. And a kudo/comment a day keeps the doctor... :)


	6. Singing

**Castiel Novak (8:31 pm):** Leaving now.  
**Gabriel Novak (8:32 pm):** ok don’t get kidnapped!!!  
**Castiel Novak (8:32 pm):** You say that every time I use the subway.  
**Gabriel Novak (8:33 pm):** just looking out for u bro ;)

Cas sighs and pockets his phone, then pulls the lapels of his jacket closer together. East coast winters are harsh, even colder in the cities it seems, and Cas can see his breath in small, white clouds as he heads below ground into the station.

The platform is a respite from the blustery winds outside, though the warmth is the damp kind, from the lights and engines and body heat. Cas stands near the painted line so as to minimize the jostling when the car comes, and thankfully he spots an empty seat right away, which he takes.

**Castiel Novak (8:46 pm):** On the train and no sign of danger (yet).  
**Gabriel Novak (8:47 pm):** har har

Cas smiles and holds the phone in his lap as he glances around. There are two mothers each with young children; a group of students; some people in their work clothes. There’s an elderly women to his left who’s reading a magazine, and to his right is a guy about his age wearing ear buds. He has nice hands, Cas thinks abruptly, one of which is tapping out a rhythm on his knee. Cas wonders what he’s listening to. Something fast probably - he looks the classic rock type.

**Gabriel Novak (8:53 pm):** lots of people in ur car?  
**Castiel Novak (8:53 pm):** Yes, more than usual for this hour.  
**Gabriel Novak (8:55 pm):** any hotties?  
**Castiel Novak (8:55 pm):** Gabe, please.  
**Gabriel Novak (8:55 pm):** what no harm in asking 

They reach a stop while he’s texting and a third of the people get up and leave. Without the teenagers’ loud chatter Cas can actually hear the car moving along the tracks and-

“I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice.”

It’s the guy, the one beside him with the ear buds. So he’s not listening to classic rock then.

“Beautiful, please don’t hurry.”

He’s probably unaware that he’s singing along with his music, but it’s low enough that Cas is really the only one who can hear him. At least, nobody else seems to notice anyway.

“Your eyes are like starlight now… I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell.” 

 **Castiel Novak (9:03 pm):** There’s a singer on board.  
**Gabriel Novak (9:05 pm):** a busker?  
**Castiel Novak (9:06 pm):** No, someone sitting next to me. I’m not sure if he knows that he’s singing out loud.  
**Gabriel Novak (9:06 pm):** is he any good?

Cas tilts his head at the question. The guy is still singing - half of it humming, half of it lyrics - and Cas decides that his voice is very pleasant, sort of husky but mellow, a slight twang that sounds Southern. 

 **Castiel Novak (9:08 pm):** Quite good.  
**Gabriel Novak (9:09 pm):** is that so  

Honestly, his brother is the only person who could convey an innuendo through a _text_.

His phone buzzes again. 

 **Gabriel Novak (9:12 pm):** u like ppl who can sing  
**Castiel Novak (9:12 pm):** Are there people who don’t?  
**Gabriel Novak (9:13 pm):** idk my ex was tone-deaf  
**Gabriel Novak (9:14 pm):** don’t change the subject! 

Cas ignores that last one. He also realizes that the song has changed.

“It’s glistening once again… with candy canes and silver lanes aglow.”

Well, the caroler certainly has good taste in Christmas music. Before he knows it, Cas is humming the melody too, but he quickly stops himself with a smile and a shake of his head.

The guy notices.

Cas worries that he’d be annoyed or get the wrong idea, but he’s pulling out his ear buds and smiling, crooked and handsome, and Cas has to focus instead on learning how to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “It’s just- Your music. The songs are very festive.”

The guy raises an eyebrow. “You could hear it?”

“Oh, um,” Cas laughs softly. “You were… singing along?”

To Cas’ surprise, the guy barks a laugh and that _does_ catch the attention of a few others across the aisle. The stranger pays them no mind. “Shit, sorry about that.”

“No, it was-” Cas feels a blush creep up his neck. “You’re a good singer.”

“And you’re too nice, man. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Cas.” He takes Dean’s offered hand, which is as strong and warm as it’d looked. 

 **Gabriel Novak (9:20 pm):** cas  
**Gabriel Novak (9:22 pm):** cas u flirting bro? 

“Should you check those?” Dean asks, gesturing at the lit-up screen on Cas’ phone.

“It’s my brother,” Cas sighs. “I’m actually headed to his place now.”

“Oh yeah? I’m visiting my brother too. Staying with him for the weekend.” Dean leans back against his seat and Cas glimpses a section of the Led Zeppelin logo on his shirt. So he was right about the rock. “S’a good thing it’s winter though. Otherwise Sam would force me to go to the farmer’s market, or worse, a nature walk. I was pulling leaves out of my hair for like a week after the last time.”

Cas laughs. “Where does he live?”

“Brooklyn,” Dean says. “I’m only cool enough to visit for two days at a time.” He winks and for a moment Cas is far too flustered to speak.

“Gabe- Um, my brother lives there too. Brooklyn, I mean.”

“No way,” Dean grins, all easy charm. “Thank god for that.”

Cas knows his face is red at this point, and he lowers his eyes away from Dean’s smile - before he truly embarrasses himself. They lapse into a lull that somehow isn’t awkward at all, and Cas decides to finally read the texts that he’d missed. 

 **Castiel Novak (9:42 pm):** I wasn’t flirting.  
**Gabriel Novak (9:44 pm):** sure  
**Castiel Novak (9:44 pm):** I wasb’ 

A weight lolls onto his shoulder and Cas turns his head toward the movement. It’s Dean, fallen asleep, mouth parted slightly and leaning into Cas’ side. His hair feels soft against Cas’ jaw and Cas doesn’t have the heart or will to wake him. It’s only fifteen more minutes until their stop anyway so he returns to the text and deletes the typo to start over. 

**Castiel Novak (9:45 pm):** I’ll see you soon.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Dean blushes when Cas wakes him up, says sorry for being terrible company. Cas smiles and tells him it’s fine, but even as they’re nearing the exit, Dean is apologizing.

“Listen, I still feel bad,” he says. He’s got both hands in his jacket pockets and he rocks back once on his feet, looking nervous. “If, uh, if you’re in the borough for a couple days, I could make it up to you? Coffee maybe?”

It’s admittedly a bit of a strained segue, but Cas would’ve asked the question if Dean hadn’t, so.

“I’d like that,” Cas replies. “I could give you my number?”

Dean lights up, his bright green eyes overshadowing the flush on his cheeks. “Awesome.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“You didn’t flirt, huh?” Gabe teases later that night, watching Cas smile at a pretty cute, sleepy text from Dean.

“No, Gabe,” he says after sending off a reply. “He just fell asleep on me.”

Gabe whistles and takes another sip of his chai.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Four Months Later**

“I might fall asleep on you again,” Dean smiles, tucking one of his ear buds into Cas’ right ear.

Cas smiles back and leans in to press a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “That’s okay. I know it’s just one of your many seduction techniques.”

“No, it’s not,” Dean says defiantly. “… Why, does it work?”

“I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my personality. You’re a dog, Castiel Novak.”

Cas just laughs and reaches for Dean’s hand.

His phone chimes in his pocket a moment later and he checks the message with his free hand.

**Gabriel Novak (11:33 am):** on ur way?  
**Castiel Novak (11:33 am):** Yes, we just left the station.  
**Gabriel Novak (11:33 am):** cool don’t get arrested for ur gross pda  
**Castiel Novak (11:34 am):** What happened to ‘Don’t get kidnapped’?  
**Gabriel Novak (11:35 am):** u have ur strong bf now ;)

He’s about to reply when he hears Dean’s phone ring beside him. Dean also picks up without letting go of Cas’ hand and Cas briefly thinks his brother may have been right about the ‘gross’ thing. Just a little.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean answers. “Yeah, dinner’s good. We’re having lunch with Gabe but we can meet you and Jess at like seven?” There’s a pause while Dean listens to Sam on the other line. “We could do breakfast on Sunday but not tomorrow. Cas and I are going to the park.”

Cas bites back a smile.

Dean rolls his eyes. “What do you mean ‘why’? It’s a park, Sammy. We’re gonna go for a walk.” Another pause. “Yeah, I _know_ there are trees there, Jesus.”

Cas can’t help the laugh this time and Dean gives him this look like, ‘My brother’s an ass but what else is new.’

“Yeah, yeah, Dean Winchester hates nature blah, blah, blah,” Dean shoots back. “But you know, at least I don’t have to shower alone anymo-” He pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns. “He hung up on me.”

“Stop traumatizing your brother,” Cas chides, but it’s half-hearted at best. He looks at his phone again.

**Castiel Novak (11:46 am):** You’re right. I do have a great boyfriend.  
**Gabriel Novak (11:48 am):** like i said. gross.

Cas is too busy kissing Dean to see the reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by winterjared's prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105648090235/dean-cas-singing). She asked for Dean singing to himself on the subway and Cas noticing. Hope you like this, my dear!
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	7. Presents

**Christmas 2009**

What do you even buy for an angel of the Lord.

Or maybe the real question is ‘how’ because there’s no way Dean could afford like, a whole constellation or whatever. And wouldn’t he have to work on that kind of scale for Cas to even bat an eye? He used to live in Heaven, for crying out loud. It’s a lot to compete with.

There was a moment when Dean wondered if he should even bother. It isn’t like this is Cas’ first Christmas - he was probably there for Christmas numero uno, in _Bethlehem_ \- and Dean just felt discouraged in general; again, with the ‘too much to live up to’ thing. But he knows from his own bleak childhood that everyone deserves a bit of good cheer on Christmas, human or celestial, which is how Dean finds himself wandering a crowded mall on Christmas Eve. It’s packed and he’s _always_ hated malls, but he still keeps his eyes peeled for inspiration.

It’s when Dean passes a store called Fireworks that he sees it.

Cas appears almost shocked the next morning, his normally big blue eyes even wider at the present being placed in his hands. They’re huge and wondrous and Dean rubs at the back of his neck till it’s pink. He’s about to tell his friend to just open the damn thing already when Cas finally begins to unwrap it, slow and careful the entire time. There’s a rustle of tissue paper and then Cas is holding his gift, wide-eyed and staring as though he’s grateful but unsure of what he’s looking at.

“It’s a cell phone case,” Dean explains. “It protects your phone so it won’t break if you drop it or something.”

“There’s an angel on it,” Cas observes, and the corner of his mouth ticks with a small smile.

“Yeah, the design’s sort of Christmas-y but…” Dean laughs quietly. “But that’s the fun part. You can always get a new one. Switch it out.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas’ eyes are so, so bright. They nearly make Dean blush.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, then clears his throat. “Merry Christmas.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The Christmas angel stays on Cas’ phone until March, when Sam buys him a new one with a hipsterish cartoon mustache. Cas doesn’t get the joke - and neither does Dean, to be honest - and Cas only replaces the old case after the rubber wears away and cracks.

 

**Christmas 2011**

“S’that a beekeeping set?” Sam asks, watching Dean struggle with the wrapping paper on his bed. They borrowed the tape and scissors when they checked into the motel earlier that night, and Dean has been fighting with the roll of reindeer-covered paper for half-an-hour. He eventually sighs and moves the project over to the table; a flat surface would probably help.

“Yeah, seemed like an obvious choice,” Dean says. “Dude won’t stop talking about them.”

Sam just nods and, surprisingly, doesn’t tease. Neither of them mentions last Christmas either, when Dean had been too upset to even keep track of the days. Christmas came and went without anybody having the presence of mind to celebrate, but now Dean wants to make up for that, to set aside the anger and start fresh.

“Think he’ll like it?” he asks Sam, hanging little pieces of tape on the table’s edge.

Sam looks at him seriously then cracks a smile. “It’s from you, of course he’ll like it.”

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn’t bother to ask what he means.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

On Christmas, Cas flaps into their motel room bearing gifts, throwing Dean and Sam for a loop. They never expected Cas to really pick up any human customs, and a good few minutes are spent just _looking_ at their presents until Cas frowns. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Cas,” Sam is quick to assure him. (Dean is still gaping.) “We’re just… pleasantly surprised, that’s all.”

Cas smiles, clearly pleased, and gestures at the two of them to see what’s inside their bags. Sam’s gift is a book, and it must’ve been one he wanted because he thanks Cas profusely. Cas’ cheeks are pink by the end of it. Dean’s present is- It’s honey. Not store-bought honey but a richer, dark gold variety filling an unlabeled jar.

“I collected it myself,” Cas says, and Dean has to chuckle because… because of course Cas collected it himself. “The honey comes from a plant called _manuka_ in New Zealand.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean turns the jar around in his hands, feeling warm. “Guess there won’t be much use for what I got you though.”

Cas tilts his head as Dean hands over the box. He opens the wrapping with even more care than before.

“Oh,” he says when he understands what the kit is for, though his tone isn’t disappointed so much as fond. “I will use this, Dean,” he concludes, and coming from Cas, it sounds like a declaration.

“It’s okay, Cas, you don’t have to-”

“No, I… Thank you. Your forgiveness would have been enough of a gift for me.”

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat and simply replies, “We’re past that.”

Cas smiles, shoulders relaxing in relief. “Yes,” he says. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

 

**Christmas 2012**

Purgatory is damp. Damp, dark, perpetually grey and black. It’s easy to lose track of time in here, even easier to lose your mind, but it helps to have someone along for the ride, which is why Dean is pretty grateful for Benny.

Finding Cas by the stream is a liberation from several things. Some anxieties, for one, and that ache in the left side of his chest fades as soon as he hugs Cas, feels that he’s real. Cas, for his part, is still a little stiff and distant, but Dean understands that he’s constantly on the lookout for Leviathans. To keep them away from him.

He was jarred by the confession, by how far Cas would go to protect him. He wants to say something about it but that’s hard with Benny always around, so he waits until the next time they stop - maybe two days later inside a cave behind a waterfall.

He and Cas sit at the cave’s mouth, keeping watch, and Dean shifts closer, encouraged when Cas doesn’t move away. His head spins and spins with everything he’d like to say, but none make it out once he finds a leaf stuck to the rocks beside their feet.

“Hey, look at that,” he says, guiding Cas’ attention to the frond. It’s triangular with jagged edges, forest green streaked with a bit of red. “Sorta looks like a Christmas tree.”

Cas stares at the leaf for a moment, and his features are softer when he nods. “It does.”

“I don’t even know what month it is back home.” Dean sighs and leans against Cas, just slightly. Cas lets him. “But in case it’s December,” he smiles ruefully, “Merry Christmas.”

Cas’ eyes are sad but he’s indulgent. “You too, Dean. You should get some rest. I can watch over you.”

“You always do,” Dean mumbles, resting his head on Cas’ strong shoulder. He drifts off quickly and it’s the best sleep he’s gotten since he was dropped here, and the warmest he’s been maybe ever.

 

**Christmas 2013**

He texts Cas from outside the Gas-n-Sip. ‘Got a minute?’

Through the window, Dean sees Cas hand a customer her purchases before reaching into his pocket. ‘I have a break in forty-five minutes.’

‘Cool. I can wait.’

Dean puts down his phone and reaches for the Tupperware containers on the passenger seat. He lifts them onto his lap, hoping that the contents haven’t cooled too much on his way here. He listens to the radio for a bit, plays a few mindless games on his phone, and soon Cas is knocking on the window, climbing into the seat when Dean waves him in.

“D’you have a good Christmas?” Dean asks.

“It was… adequate,” Cas says, and Dean wonders if he realizes how resigned he sounds.

‘My fault,’ Dean thinks bitterly, doesn’t want to picture Cas alone and cold on the holiday. “Well, I brought you this,” he says instead, pushing the warm containers into Cas’ hands. “I, uh, I made it yesterday. S’just ham, and potatoes. There’s pie in there too. Cranberry.”

“… Thank you,” Cas says, and there’s that dazed look again like he’s never seen Tupperware before.

Dean can’t help his smile. “You’re welcome.”

“I have something for you as well,” Cas tells him, and pulls a small box out of the pouch on his vest. It’s one of those individually packaged slices of pie, and Cas offers it shyly along with a plastic fork. “It isn’t homemade but… I’m afraid I wasn’t equipped to bake you one.”

“No, that’s-” Dean laughs and it’s rough with suppressed emotion. “This is great, Cas. Thanks.” He mirrors Cas’ soft smile for a moment, then gets an idea. “I’ll be right back.”

He heads into the store and goes straight to the freezers in the back, scanning the selection and picking out the item he wants. He checks out with Cas’ boss and grabs another fork and two spoons as he leaves, and Cas peers at him curiously when he returns to the Impala, hands full.

“We can’t have pie without ice cream.” Dean gives Cas the mini carton of Ben and Jerry’s vanilla, and peels back the plastic cover on the pie. The flavor is cherry, his-

“You mentioned that cherry is your favorite?” Cas has the ice cream open now, though he’s biting his bottom lip, uncertain.

“It is.” Dean’s heart is beating so fast. “Can’t believe you remembered that.”

They lapse into quiet as they eat, but it’s comfortable; it’s always been comfortable. The ice cream melts and pools around the pie. Dean is too focused on Cas to really care.

Before Cas goes back to work, Dean asks him to wait, extends his hand forward and curls it around Cas’ arm. He keeps it there and leans in, surprised when Cas does the same, and the kiss is sweet and sticky and entirely perfect.

“We’re spending Christmas together next year,” Dean promises.

“I’d really like that,” Cas murmurs, and presses his lips to Dean’s a second time.

 

**Christmas 2014**

Sam just won’t stop laughing.

Cas bends his head toward Claire, forehead creased in concern. “You said this is what two people wear if they’re…” he trails off when he catches Dean staring at him, then clears his throat, flushing pink.

“No, they do,” Claire grins, “and don’t worry, it’s cute.”

Dean throws a bow at Sam’s head and pulls the sweater out of its box, tugs it over his head before Cas’ frown can get any deeper. “She’s right,” he says, splaying his arms to either side. “See? Adorable.”

“Do you mean it?” Cas is squinting, kind of skeptical, and Dean wants to change that to a smile immediately.

“Definitely.”

Cas glances down at his own sweater, identical to the one he gave Dean, then looks back up, seeming happier. “I’m glad.”

Sam makes a vomiting face in the back but Dean ignores him. “C’mon, open yours.”

Cas cradles the box in his hands, shakes it a little. “Hmm.”

Dean quirks a smile. “Think you’ll like it.”

“I know I will,” Cas says, and unties the ribbon so that it cascades to the floor. His eyes widen as soon as he lifts the lid, and they’re huge by the time he pulls out a sprig secured with a bow. “Is this… mistletoe?”

“A box full of ‘em,” Dean laughs. “Thought we could hang them _all around_ the bunker.”

Sam groans like he’s been punched while Claire just seems really impressed. Cas blushes red enough to match the bow but still manages to say, “Let’s hang them up now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for flurrydean's prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105733270198/dean-cas-presents). She asked for a bunker fic where Dean and Cas open gifts together on Christmas. I was then inspired to include four more Christmases.
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	8. Mistletoe

This party is the last place Castiel wants to be on Christmas Eve.

He’s nineteen years old and, while he isn’t some wildly popular frat boy, he has a decent number of friends and was invited to three different holiday parties, thank you very much. He was planning to go to one tonight - Anna’s - until his mother, the great Senator Naomi Novak, decided to throw a work party at the Four Seasons. “I expect your attendance at this event, Castiel,” she’d said, and his primary task all evening has been to shake everyone’s hand and step into the right photos.

His only reprieve is texting Balthazar, mainly taking sneaky candids of stodgy politicians so Balth can send back snarky comments. He also remembers to chew out his brother Gabriel, who learned of the party before he did and conveniently went out of town two days ago.

“Why don’t you put that away, sweetheart.”

Cas jumps at his mother’s voice, turns to find her practically standing in his space. Her lips are smiling but her eyes exude sharp disapproval, and it always baffles Castiel how she does that.

“I already said hello to everyone,” he says. “What else am I supposed to do for two more hours?”

“Talk?” she suggests like he’s a child. “Engage the guests? Honestly, you’re so talkative with your friends yet one serious function turns you into a hermit.”

Cas resists the urge to roll his eyes. “My friends are also my age, and your friends are… _your_ age.”

“How astute of you,” she sighs. “Alright, well, if you’re going to text, do it outside.”

“Yup, as long as no one sees it.” Cas gives her a salute and heads over to the refreshments table; he’s going to grab some snacks first, at least.

“Aren’t you a little young for this party?”

Teasing him about his age, how original. Cas glances up, about to tell the stranger as much, except he finds himself at a loss for words the instant their eyes meet across the table. The guy looks college-aged, with ash brown hair and freckles dusting his face. He’s wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt, and his waistcoat has the catering company logo embroidered near the bottom, but what startles Cas the most are his eyes, an incredible, brilliant shade of green. They’re bright and mischievous and honest-to-god twinkling from the lights above them, and Cas somehow gets his bearings long enough to reply, “I’m being held here against my will.”

“Oh yeah?” The guy’s voice is low and warm. Like honey. “They sacrificin’ you at midnight?”

The question surprises a laugh out of Cas and even worse, makes him flush. That never happens. He makes other people flush, not vice versa. “Why, are you gonna save me if they do?”

“If you ask.” The guy smiles lazily and okay, yeah, he’s definitely the hottest _person_ , man or woman, Cas has ever met. “Although, you don’t seem the damsel-in-distress type. In distress, maybe, but not a damsel.”

Cas hums in agreement, tilting his head. “So say I’m in distress. What then?”

“I’d probably tell you that I have a twenty-minute break starting…” he peeks at his watch, “now, and that I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Hmm.” Cas toys with the end of his tie, unsure of where he left his jacket. It doesn’t matter. “Well, my name is Cas. Can’t really have a heart-to-heart when I don’t know yours.”

There’s another smile, amused and charming. Handsome. “I’m Dean.”

“Hi, Dean,” Cas smiles back. “Let’s go take that break.” Dean laughs again but follows obligingly, and his palm feels hot where it comes to rest on the small of Cas’ back.

It’s a relief to leave the ballroom, and the noise quiets down as soon as they’re out the door, turning left. There’s a narrow hallway tucked around the corner with a few stray chairs placed against the wall. Dean surprises him by sitting on one then gesturing to another. “So tell me who dragged you here tonight,” he says.

“You actually want to chat?”

Dean shrugs like he’d been obvious. “Said I’m a good listener, didn’t I?”

Cas is a little caught off guard, but moves to sit next to Dean eventually. He begins to talk, reluctantly at first, yet within five minutes he realizes how shockingly easy it all is. It’s the way Dean looks at him, like Cas is sharing something important, with those green, green eyes that unnerve Cas a bit with their intensity.

“… so I should be used to it by now. I mean, I’ve gone to these parties since I was a kid.” Cas laughs and leans back in his chair, feels Dean’s eyes on him. “It’s just… not my idea of a great Christmas Eve.”

“I get that,” Dean says, and from his empathetic tone, Cas can tell that he really does.

“What about you? Did you have to cancel some hot date to work tonight?”

If Dean figures out that Cas just wants to know his relationship status, he doesn’t let it show. “No. No date. I didn’t mind working on Christmas Eve and Ellen needed some extra help, so.”

“Ellen?”

“Oh. Yeah, Ellen, she’s a family friend. Sorta like my aunt, really. She owns the catering company.”

Cas suddenly feels kind of sheepish for complaining earlier. “It was nice of you to volunteer.”

Dean shrugs at this too, not in a dismissive way but as though everything he ever does is just naturally _him_.

“Are you on winter break?” Cas asks, silently guessing at Dean’s age.

“Yup,” Dean nods. “But it’s my family who lives here. I go to school in New York.”

Cas’ eyes widen at the coincidence. “So do I.”

“Really?” Dean quirks a smile and it dawns on Cas that they’re sitting very, very close. “Shame that we just met today then.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. “New York is a big place.”

“I’m sure I would’ve noticed you.” It’s a fairly terrible line but there’s an earnestness in Dean’s eyes as he says it, and Cas blushes with how taken he is, at their proximity, at Dean’s arm draped across his chair.

“Do you have to head in soon?” Cas knows that he sounds disappointed and something flutters in his chest when Dean mirrors the sentiment.

“Five more minutes,” Dean says after checking his watch. He unfolds himself from the chair, extending a hand toward Cas when he’s standing. Cas stares at it for a moment before placing his hand in Dean’s, a tad shy. He’s not sure what that’s a symptom of but his heart just won’t stop racing.

Dean pulls him away from the chairs, until there’s nothing between them and the cream-colored wall. He takes a step forward and Cas goes along with the movement, his back hitting the wall and Dean crowding him against it.

“D’you notice what’s hanging above us?” Dean whispers.

Cas looks up and a disbelieving laugh escapes his throat- because it’s mistletoe, tied with a shiny gold ribbon.

“Mistletoe,” he says out loud, still incredulous. “Is that why you wanted us to sit here?”

“That wasn’t the only reason,” Dean says, though his cheeks are faintly pink now, “but a guy can hope.”

Cas smiles, flirty and mirthful, and reaches out to curl his hand into Dean’s shirt. “Yes, you can.”

Dean sends him a heated, purposeful look, then closes the small distance between them, pulling Cas’ body to press against his own. He moves one hand up to Cas’ shoulder, the other he keeps on his waist, and when he kisses Cas, it’s gentle and chaste, though the touch alone is enough to make Cas’ toes curl inside his shoes.

Dean’s mouth is mostly closed, Cas’ slightly parted, and Cas lets out a breathy little noise, impatiently urging Dean for more. But Dean- Dean makes him wait, pulling back to nip his bottom lip, teasing and playful. Only when Cas murmurs his name does Dean finally coax his lips open, and the kiss is all fire the instant that their tongues meet. Dean brings his hand up to cup Cas’ jaw, brushing his thumb on Cas’ clean-shaven cheek. Cas moans softly, leaning into the touch, then hooks his fingers into Dean’s empty belt loops, tugging his hips even closer.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, moving back again, hand still cradling Cas’ face, broad and strong. His eyes are a darker green, pupils blown and sexy as hell. Cas slides his fingers into Dean’s hair, messing it up, and guides Dean back to him for another kiss. It’s sweeter now, more languid, but the effect is just as mind-numbing despite the softness.

“Cas, you’re so gorgeous,” Dean mumbles over his lips. Cas tries to hide his blush by deepening the kiss.

Dean doesn’t let him, though, and tucks a finger under Cas’ chin before he can protest. Their eyes lock and Cas can’t look away even if he wants to, because this isn’t how these things usually happen - never this _sincere_ or emotional.

“Dean,” he sighs, attempting to sound put-upon, gasping instead when Dean kisses the corner of his mouth. It affects Cas more than any other kiss ever had, and his eyes are huge by the time Dean is gazing at him again.

“I should get back,” Dean chuckles. “And as much as I’d love to kiss you more, _this_ ,” he waves at their surroundings, “just really isn’t romantic.”

“… Romantic?”

“Yeah.” Dean traces the curve of Cas’ mouth with his thumb. “Would you let me take you out on a date?”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat. “I…” His eyes drop to his feet. “Yes. Yeah, I would.”

When his eyes lift back up, Dean is smiling, wide and beautiful, and he shifts to hold Cas’ hand securely in his. “C’mon, angel,” he winks. “Stay close in case I have to save you at midnight.”

Cas flushes at the endearment, rolls his eyes fondly, and follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for capturedean's and christmascastiell's prompts on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105832204505/dean-cas-mistletoe): They asked for Dean and Cas meeting at a holiday party and kissing beneath the mistletoe.
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	9. Bunker

It all starts when Dean walks into Cas’ room on Christmas morning.

“Heya, Cas, Merry Chr-” He’s interrupted by a hacking cough, paired with some ragged wheezing, and by the time he says “Aw, man” and approaches the bed, Cas is suffering from a full-on coughing fit.

Dean sinks down on the mattress, inexplicably pleased when Cas’ body curls toward him like it’s instinct. He rubs his palm in circles on Cas’ back, and once the coughs subside, winces a little at the hoarseness of Cas’ voice.

“I’m sick,” Cas announces weakly, sounding so adorably petulant that Dean can’t help his chuckle.

“I can see that, buddy,” he says, and moves his hand to check Cas’ forehead. He’s burning up. “I’m gonna bring you some aspirin, okay?” He waits for Cas to nod before leaving the room and heading straight for the kitchen.

Sam is already there, cooking breakfast for three on the stove, wearing a hideous snowman sweater that he bought from god knows where. He glances up when Dean appears in the doorway, watches him make a beeline for the pantry and asks, “Is Cas up yet?”

“He’s sick,” Dean replies over his shoulder. He quickly picks out the medication and wonders what he could give to Cas to eat.

“Sick? What does he have?” Sam is suddenly standing next to him, still holding the spatula for his eggs. “We’ve been snowed in since last night. Is there enough aspirin? Do we have soup?”

“Calm down, doctor,” Dean says, though he might be just as worried, if not more. “I’m pretty sure it’s the flu. I’ve got the aspirin and we could use the chicken broth for the soup?”

Sam nods, immediately turning toward the fridge. “Yeah, okay, I can get that out.”

“Hey, wait.” Sam stops and Dean sighs, flushing slightly. “Uh, it’s just- You know Cas was looking forward to Christmas and everything… His first one as a human and all.” Sam looks at him curiously, a silent tell to continue. “And well, since he’s _bedridden_ now, we could move the tree into his room or… or whatever.”

“Dean,” Sam says, and he’s fucking beaming like he’s shocked _and_ proud. “That’s a great idea.”

“Alright, Samantha,” Dean grouses, fetching a glass of water and making sure it’s not too cold. “Just go get the damn tree.”

His brother rolls his eyes but claps Dean on the shoulder on his way out, while Dean simply focuses on not dropping or spilling anything on _his_ way back to Cas’ room at the end of the hall.

“Still with me, Cas?” he calls from the door, but all he hears is a low wheezing from under the blanket. He sets down the water and pills, grabs a second comforter from the closet, and tucks that snugly around Cas’ form on the bed, smiling at the snuffling noises he gets in return.

Cas’ hair is splayed on pillow in messy brown tufts, and Dean has to pull on the blanket to uncover his face. The lights make Cas squint a bit at first, but soon he’s blinking his blue, bloodshot eyes. “Hello, Dean,” he greets, foggy and quiet.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs back. “Think you can take some aspirin for me?”

Cas grumbles woozily but allows Dean to sit him up, and his lips are chapped where they touch the glass, his throat working hard to swallow the pills. He’s frowning but drinks the entire glass like Dean asked, and afterward he burrows into the sheets again.

Dean lets him do as he pleases, sees to it that his feet are covered and rises back up to leave. He passes Sam in the hallway, grins at him hauling the tree with all its ornaments, and although he nearly trips on the lights dragging across the floor, he’s too busy thinking of a good soup recipe to complain.

Back in the kitchen, he puts a pot of chicken broth on the burner, then opens the fridge door to rummage for something suitable. For once, Sam’s penchant for rabbit food comes in handy, because he finds plenty of celery and baby carrots to cook with. He chops them into bite-sized pieces, adds them to the bubbling broth, then he seasons the whole thing to taste and boils some more water for the Theraflu.

“Tree’s all set up,” Sam tells him, right as Dean finishes cooking and steps out of the kitchen with the tray. He eyes the tea and soup and most importantly Dean with poorly hidden amusement, but Dean doesn’t want the stuff getting cold so he decides to save the chewing out for later.

Cas is leaning against the headboard when Dean goes into the room, blinking at the lit-up tree, wrinkling his nose in an effort to breathe more easily. He looks like a scruffy kitten, puzzled and a lot dazed, which forces Dean to tamp down on thinking that Cas is really, goddamn cute.

“Drink this first. Be careful, alright? It’s hot.” Dean wraps a napkin around the mug then hands it to Cas, keeping a grip on it in case Cas feels too weak to hold it up. He watches as Cas takes a cautious sip and croaks, “That feels very nice,” and it isn’t adorable at all. It isn’t.

“Try some soup,” Dean says nervously, and Cas seems surprised like he didn’t notice the bowl until now.

“You cooked?” Cas asks wondrously. The bleary look of affection he throws his way is too much for Dean to handle, so he chalks it up to the fever talking and coughs twice, looking away.

“I’ll do it if it’s important,” he says, and thinks expressing that sentiment probably made everything worse.

Cas is smiling though, soft and fond, and the only thing Dean can do is place a spoon into Cas’ hand.

It’s quiet while Cas eats, his breathing still rough but his sighs increasingly content. He finishes almost the entire bowl and puts the spoon back down with hooded eyes; Dean moves the tray to the bedside table and says, “You can sleep. It’ll be good for you to rest.”

“But what about…”

“Don’t worry,” Dean smiles, pushing Cas’ damp hair from his forehead. “It’s only nine in the morning. Still gonna be Christmas when you wake up.”

Cas nods and he’s already sleepy, sort of half-sliding into a fetal position on the mattress. “Will you stay, Dean?” he asks, raspy and unsure. “I mean, I… I don’t want you to get sick but-”

“Stop that,” Dean sighs, and he’s toeing off his boots before he knows it. He slips beneath the covers, letting Cas press up against him, and it should be weird - they’ve never done _this_ ever, been this close - but Cas just feels warm and natural and right. 

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s shirt.

“Shh,” Dean whispers, and wraps his arms more tightly around Cas’ waist.

It’s close to one in the afternoon when they wake up, and Dean can’t quite remember when he drifted off to sleep himself. Cas is snuffling sadly against his chest, pink-cheeked and drowsy and miserable most likely but adorable. Dean fights down a smile to press a kiss into Cas’ hair, and that’s another thing he’s never done before but again, it feels like something they’ve always had.

Cas stirs in his arms, breathing hazily as he raises his head.

“Dean?” he asks quietly, as if to confirm that Dean’s really there. His voice sounds a little better and Dean is sort of stupidly overwhelmed with relief.

“Hi,” Dean replies. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Cas demurs at that, ducking his head back down. “You too.”

“How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“No,” Cas says softly. “Dean, this- This is good.”

“Okay,” Dean smiles. “Okay.” He lazily threads his fingers through Cas’ hair, feels Cas sigh at the touch and snuggle closer.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, not really sleeping, just enjoying each other’s presence and company. Eventually, though, there’s a knock on the door, and Sam pokes his head in to ask, “Hey, Cas. Are you feeling any better?”

Cas shifts and Dean helps him sit up, ignoring Sam’s smug grin at the sight of them, all sleep-mussed and obvious.

“I am, thanks to both of you,” Cas says.

“Good, I’m glad.” Sam walks over with a new glass of water and what looks like two more aspirin. “Here, take these. Would you like to open some presents?”

Cas takes the glass and medicine and looks to Dean, eyes wide and pretty.

Dean smiles and drapes an arm around his shoulder. “How ‘bout it? Are you ready for Christmas, babe?”

Cas’ breath hitches and Sam laughs into his hand, but Dean figures, hey, the cat’s out of the bag.

“Yes,” Cas murmurs after a moment, and the lights from the tree dance across his cheeks as he reaches for Dean’s hand beneath the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for myangelshunter's and trustcrowley's prompts on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/105902887740/dean-cas-bunker): They asked for Dean and Cas spending Christmas (snowed in) at the bunker. I just improvised it to add sick!Cas.
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	10. Crush

Castiel thinks, for all intents and purposes, that he’s a fairly average high school sophomore.

He wears sweatshirts, jeans pretty much always, is a member of the swim team, and has a love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with chem. He’s pretty good at it though, like he is with all of his subjects, and if it weren’t for his solid athlete status, he’d probably be labeled as a nerd.

But that’s not what’s important.

What’s important are the reasons why he isn’t so average, and at the top of that list is his massively hideous crush on his best friend, Dean Winchester. (Second on the list is putting Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas” on repeat every December, hoping that Dean will show up at his door with a declaration of love if Cas _truly_ doesn’t care about the presents under the tree.)

“Cas!”

Cas jumps at the voice, loud and familiar, and Dean is right by his side when he turns around, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. They joined the swim team together last year and Cas will be able to tell you that seeing your crush half-naked every morning can have serious repercussions for your heart - probably. But right now, all Cas can do is smile helplessly while Dean claps him on the back, palm broad and warm.

“Cas, man, I called your name like three times.”

“Sorry, Dean,” Cas mumbles. “I guess I’m just… worried about our test on Chaucer.”

“Why’re you worried?” Dean laughs. They’re walking now and Dean has his arm looped casually around Cas’ shoulders, smelling like chlorine and the Impala and Dean, Dean, Dean. “You always ace ‘em all anyway.”

Cas flushes a little, ducks his head. “Our meet took up most of the weekend. I didn’t have much time to study.”

Dean hums in agreement and there’s a lull as they head for the stairs, but then all of a sudden Dean’s eyes light up mischievously, remembering something. “Oh, I meant to ask… You takin’ anyone to the winter dance?”

Cas frowns, because he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it but- “I don’t think I’ll be attending.”

“What?” Dean blurts out like he’s personally offended. “Dude, you have to go!”

“Dean, I…” He has no idea how to explain this without revealing everything. “The person I want to ask isn’t… interested.” It hurts to admit out loud but he figures it’s harmless enough, and honest.

Dean just looks even more offended. “Who the hell wouldn’t be interested?” He leans in conspiratorially and Cas wants to shut his eyes because green eyes and freckles and his heart is thumping so fast. “There are like, seven different girls who are dying for you to ask them, okay? And one of ‘em’s a _senior_. So quit your mopin’ and bring someone and we’ll have a good time, alright?”

“Dean, it’s not-” _It’s not a girl_. _It’s you_. _I want to ask_ you. (But he really can’t say any of that.)

“Not what?” Dean asks, though he gets distracted when Lisa Braeden waves at them from a few feet away.

Cas sighs, and imagines this is what a ‘sinking heart’ feels like. “Never mind. I’ll see you at practice.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Dean doesn’t let it go.

Cas hoped that Dean would forget about it, despite the banners in the hallway and their vice principal reminding them about tickets over the intercom. But Dean keeps on bringing it up, during lunch and in the locker room, and Cas wonders how he’s expected to pay attention when Dean is shirtless and dripping wet from the pool.

“Who is it anyway?” Dean asks on Thursday after school. They’re in the parking lot, hair damp from the showers, and they’re walking toward the Impala so that Dean can drive him home.

“Who do you mean?”

“The mystery girl,” Dean smiles. “The elusive one playing hard to get.”

“No one’s playing hard to get.” It’s the truth.

“Why else would she have said ‘no’ then?” Dean reaches for Cas’ bag and backpack and throws them in the backseat with his own. “I mean, I get that ‘no’ means ‘no’ when it comes to other guys but- Cas, you’re like a catch.” Cas starts to protest but Dean cuts back in, gentle yet firm. “Didn’t you hear what Charlie said? You’re what they call ‘tall, dark, and handsome.’ And if there’s anyone who knows girls, it’s Charlie.”

“Dean,” Cas says, resigned, and thankfully Dean drops the subject (for now) after Cas climbs into the passenger seat like he’s done a hundred times before.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The whole thing becomes complicated when Dean finds the tickets, a pair of them, on Castiel’s desk.

“I knew it!” he declares triumphantly, holding them up to Cas’ dismay. It’s just- The announcement said that you couldn’t buy them after Tuesday, so… so Cas ended up getting two but it isn’t like he’s going to _do_ anything.

“Dean, they’re not-”

“You’re going!” Dean is grinning, all happy and bright, and it says a lot about Cas’ crush that it warms him a little to see Dean so excited. He’s basically hopeless. “C’mon, Cas, now you’ve gotta tell me who she is.”

Cas sits on his bed and tries not to slump. “It’s… a surprise.”

“Seriously?” Dean plops down beside him, making the mattress bounce. “Someone in our year?”

Cas contemplates whether he should answer, then recalls that there are roughly four hundred people in their grade. Approximately half of them are girls and surely Dean wouldn’t go through every one. “Yes.”

“Hmm,” Dean says, and to Cas’ surprise, he doesn’t mention a single name. “Well, when are you gonna ask her?”

“Oh.” Cas drops his gaze, tracing random patterns across his comforter. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Sweet. Do it during lunch so I can be there for moral support. And Cas?”

Dean’s hand curls around his arm and Cas feels his breath hitch. “Yeah?”

“She’s going to say ‘yes.’”

Dean is smiling at him, and it’s like staring into the sun, but Cas is also scared out of his mind and the rest of his world feels devastatingly cold.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The first half of Wednesday is the longest three hours of Cas’ life. He sneaks away at the start of lunch to carry out his (maybe) crazy plan, while Dean keeps looking around for their elusive classmate who doesn’t exist.

“Hey, we’ve got five minutes,” Dean tells him. They’re standing by his locker and Cas kind of feels like he’s diving off a cliff.

“Right,” he answers lamely. He shifts on his feet and clears his throat, twice.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Everything alright?” He glances back and forth between Cas and his locker, which then takes him a bit longer to open. An envelope falls to the floor when he does, and Dean appears confused as he picks it up and peeks inside. “These are tickets to the dance.” He pulls them out and turns them over, perhaps searching for a name, a clue. “I already have mine though.”

“Yes,” Cas says, and he swears that his ears are ringing. “They’re my tickets.”

“They’re…” Dean trails off, forehead wrinkling in a frown, and then it finally clicks and his eyes are huge. “Oh.”

“Dean, I couldn’t tell you who I wanted to ask because… because it was you.” He feels Dean’s eyes on him but Cas just can’t bring himself to meet them. “I’ve been in love with you since- God, I’ve felt this way for _years_ and- I understand that this is _… abrupt_ but… I had to. I had to explain why.”

Dean is still staring, and for the first time in a long while, Cas can’t decipher his expression. That scares him.

“Cas, um…” Dean sighs, heavily, and Cas’ stomach begins to churn. “I’m not-”

“It’s okay.” Cas wants to cry, or laugh, or both. “It’s okay, Dean. I wasn’t expecting you to… I’ll see you later.”

“No, Cas, wait. Cas!”

But Cas doesn’t wait. He doesn’t even bother looking back. He walks away from Dean, heads to class, and has no idea what any of his teachers say that afternoon.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 **Dean Winchester (3:49 pm):** hey  
**Dean Winchester** **(3:50 pm):** can we talk?

 **Dean Winchester (7:04 am):** u need a ride to school today?  
**Dean Winchester (1:32 pm):** didn’t see u at lunch. u ok?

**To: cjnovak@gmail.com  
** **From: dean.winchester@gmail.com**

hey cas,

we really need to talk. email me back. or call or text. please.

\- dean

**To: cjnovak@gmail.com  
** **From: dean.winchester@gmail.com**

cas it’s me again. so you’re not gonna talk to me at practices either?

come on, we should talk. ok? i miss you.

\- dean

**Voicemail from Castiel Novak (Sunday, December 14th, 8:31 am):**

“Hi, Dean. It’s- It’s Cas. I’m sorry for not texting you back, and for not answering your emails. I’m sorry for all of this… I’m sorry.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“So what, you’re gonna ignore him for the next two years?”

Cas feels the bed dip behind him when Anna sits, and wonders why her college semester had to finish so early. A worried Anna is an Anna he can never push away, but for now he grumbles “Yes” and digs himself deeper into the sheets. He hears her concerned sigh and feels her fingers ruffling his hair. He grunts his disapproval.

“Cas.”

“What,” he grouses.

“You know, I _would_ leave you alone,” she says softly, “except there’s this green-eyed gentleman caller downstairs, asking for you.”

Cas blinks, but it’s dark under the covers, so he tugs them down from his face and squints into the light as he sits up. “What?”

His sister smiles at him, all fond exasperation. “ _Dean_ is here. I told him to wait in the foyer.”

Cas nearly falls off the bed in his haste. “Why didn’t you say so?” he hisses.

Anna rolls her eyes like the stupid is catching. “I just did. You’re both ridiculous.”

Cas groans dramatically and dashes out the door, pausing in the hallway to claw his hair into something more presentable. The effort, however, proves to be futile, and he forgets all about it the second he sees Dean at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” Dean says first when their eyes meet. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and he seems sort of breathless as though he ran here.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas’ footsteps get slower and slower the further he moves down the stairs, but he makes it there eventually and is standing in front of Dean, biting his lip. “How are you?”

“Not good,” Dean replies. “Think my best friend is mad at me.”

“Oh. Yeah, that isn’t good.”

“But I’m sorta hoping he’ll talk to me today. I’m bankin’ on the fact that he’s too nice to kick me out of his house.”

Dean’s voice is gentle, and that surprises Cas somewhat, so he asks, “You’re not freaking out?” which draws a laugh out of Dean, a pleasant one.

“Well, no, I _did_. For like, three days I freaked out a lot. Even when I was sending those texts and stuff, I… I was shocked and it just- It took time for me to process everything. But then I realized… Cas, you’re my _best friend_. You know me better than pretty much anyone and I’m _happy_ when we hang out. Doesn’t matter if we’re talking or vegging out with movies or whatever.”

“Dean, our friendship doesn’t obligate you to do anything.”

“I’m not done though,” Dean says, smiling as he takes a step closer. “‘Cause you know what else I realized?”

Cas shakes his head, trying to remember to breathe.

“I realized,” Dean starts, still smiling, “that I’m already in love with my best friend.”

Cas has to be dreaming; really, how else could this be happening. He even pinches himself through his pajama pants and winces, because it hurts, and Dean notices and laughs before pulling Cas into a hug. And sure, they’ve hugged before - they became friends when they were five and they’re sixteen now - but never has Dean held him so tightly, and never has Cas’ pulse raced so hard.

“So Castiel Novak,” Dean murmurs into his hair, “you wanna be my date to the dance? I have four tickets so I’ve got you covered, no problem.”

Cas laughs, burying his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. “Yes, I’ll be your date.”

“Thank god,” Dean replies, and his arms feel so secure wrapped around Cas’ shoulders.

“What happened with Lisa?”

“Uh.” Dean’s chuckle vibrates through his chest and against Cas’. “Well, she asked if I was kidding, then laughed at me, then threatened to tell you that I’m cheating on you.”

“Already in the dog house, huh?”

Dean nods, grinning, and presses his lips to Cas’ cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Cas smiles at the promise, certain that Dean will keep it and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for jolicas' prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/106010776209/dean-cas-crush): "dean is a nosy bastard and keeps trying to pry the name of cas' secret crush out of him until he discovers that it's in fact him. cas is just hopelessly and helplessly in love with his best friend but is too afraid to tell him."
> 
> Subscribe to the fic for chapter updates. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	11. Knitting

Of all the places to lose an angel, Dean doesn’t expect it to happen in a Walmart.

He tried to take it in stride, of course, when he first noticed that Cas wasn’t behind him - because let’s face it, weirder things have befallen the Winchesters. He even continued to shop for ten minutes, checking off a few items on Sam’s list - disregarding the lettuce - but the Supercenter is huge, and Dean can’t really _fly_ , so eventually he’s dashing from aisle to aisle, sort of, maybe, definitely freaking out.

“Cas?” he calls down the cereal aisle, only to find some moms frowning at how much sugar there is in Lucky Charms. Dean moves on to condiments, then cleaning products, cat food and dog food and house ware, and only after he passes by a terrifying number of soaps does Dean spot a familiar trench coat in Arts and Crafts.

“I truly admire your work,” Cas is saying, and Dean catches his breath while moving closer to see who he’s talking to.

It turns out to be a woman, middle-aged and holding a child. Cas is smiling at the little girl, making her laugh, while his hand cradles one of her feet, covered in knit booties.

“And it’s possible to learn all this from a book?”

The mother smiles and nods. Cas has clearly charmed her already. “You can always learn new stitches but you really just need to know one to make scarves or hats or booties, like these.”

“I see,” Cas replies seriously. He glances up when Dean clears his throat and his eyes light up as he says, “Dean. Come look at what Julie knitted for her daughter.” 

Dean bites back a smile; ‘strangers’ is a concept that’s always been totally lost on Cas. It’s endearing, though, to be frank, because with Cas, the interactions are genuine, and the people they come across seem to find his personality refreshing more often than not. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s adorable, all puppy-like, but you didn’t hear that from Dean.

“Yeah, they’re nice,” Dean says. He remembers to wave at the girl and she laughs again, delighted by the attention.

“Your husband is very lovely,” Julie tells him in a stage whisper, and after receiving similar comments from motel owners, waitresses, and bartenders, Dean’s learned that it’s easier not to correct them.

“Eh, I like him,” he answers with a wink. Cas sighs, sounding long-suffering, and Julie beams at them like they’re the most darling couple she’s ever met. “We should probably get back to our shopping though. Right, honey?”

Cas gives him this look that’s partly smite-y and partly fond - perfected after six years, Dean might add. “Yes, Dean. We can’t forget the lettuce for Sam.” He ignores Dean’s pout and turns his deceptively sweet smile onto Julie. “My brother-in-law,” he explains with a straight face. “He enjoys salads.”

Julie nearly dies at that, practically keeling over at “how cute” they are. Dean allows just enough time for Cas to thank her for all the knitting wisdom before excusing themselves and grumbling at him to push the cart.

Cas indulges him, humming his way over to Fruits and Vegetables, and due to the lettuce mixes blasphemously covering their cart, Dean fails to notice the _Beginner’s Guide to Knitting_ snuck inside.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The next time they make a giant grocery run, it’s close to Christmas and snowing really hard. Dean decides to go anyway, because he’s not about to spend Christmas deprived of pies and carbs, and Cas comes along because- Well, they always get groceries together. Force of habit.

“Dean, there’s a snowstorm watch on the Weather Channel,” Sam warns, eyes glued to the laptop as if he hasn’t got the weather app open on his phone too, that dork. Dean scoffs as he zips up his jacket.

“The important roads were cleared this morning,” he shrugs. “We’ll be back before this so-called storm hits town.”

“It’s not a _so_ - _called_ -”

“Weather reports are bogus anyway.” Dean pockets his keys and turns to Cas who’s standing in the doorway. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” Cas is holding a bag, one of those hemp things that Sam takes to farmer’s markets or Trader Joe’s. “Will we be stopping at Walmart?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “We’re not gonna get Sam any of his rabbit food though.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, probably because he trusts Cas to pick up his grass and root vegetables for him. Dean abruptly recalls Cas’ “brother-in-law” comment and flushes, which is stupid. He squashes the thought - again, because it’s stupid - and gestures for Cas to follow him out of the bunker.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Three hours later, Dean unwittingly accepts the fact that Sam had been right.

He’s clutching Baby’s wheel, which is pointless since he can’t drive. They’re snowed in on the road, the shoulder now a makeshift parking lot, and it looks like he won’t be able to see out the windows soon; the flurries are relentless and sticking so well to the glass.

“Cas could zap you guys back,” Sam suggested when he called, though not before giving Dean him an earful about his stubbornness and disrespect for meteorology.

“Dude, I can’t leave Baby here,” was Dean’s (hello, obvious) answer, which led to a second lecture about priorities and Sam essentially calling Dean a dumbass.

“Don’t cry when you get frostbite.”

“I _won’t_ ,” Dean shot back. “Besides, Cas is like, twenty degrees warmer than the rest of us.”

Sam fell silent for a moment, long enough for Dean to wonder if the line had died. Then- “Oh.”

Dean frowned at the tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, nothing, nothing,” Sam said, totally sly, and his subsequent laugh was this gross old man laugh that really pissed Dean off because the curiosity was going to kill him.

“What!” he ended up yelling. He could see Cas flinch in surprise in the passenger seat.

“Nothing,” Sam repeated breezily. Bastard. “Just- Stay warm, Dean.”

“Bitch,” Dean groused, then hung up.

That was almost two hours ago, and the storm is so bad now that Dean is bracing himself for a night in the Impala. He’s kept the engine off and, luckily for him, Cas is radiating angel heat from a couple feet away.

“Thanks for keepin’ me warm, man,” Dean says, mostly to fill the silence between them.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies kindly, but he seems distracted, his knees bouncing in their place.

“You okay?” He waits until Cas turns to look at him. “Not nervous about the storm, are you?”

“Dean, I’m a celestial being,” Cas sighs. “No, it isn’t the storm. I just- I was hoping we could make it to the store.”

“Oh.” Dean didn’t realize Cas was so hung up on that. “Yeah, so was I. But it’s alright. We can go tomorrow after the storm passes through.”

Cas isn’t assuaged. “But tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

“Uh huh.”

“If we go tomorrow, there won’t be enough time.”

“Enough time for what?”

Cas breaks their eye contact. “… Nothing.”

Dean is skeptical but doesn’t push, even if he’s a little annoyed that Cas _and_ Sam are being so secretive. He convinces himself that he’ll find out in due time, and lets Cas know that he’s going to try for some shut eye.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

It’s almost pitch black inside the car when Dean wakes up.

There are bluer splotches on the windshield, spots where the streetlights are shining on the snow-covered glass. It takes him a minute to orient himself with his surroundings, and the first thing he discerns is a faint scratching noise coming from Cas’ side. He fishes for his phone, grateful that it hasn’t died, and clicks on the screen before angling it toward the passenger seat.

“Cas?” He’s blinking hard because it’s too bright, and he hears (and sort of sees) Cas scrambling to put away whatever he had in his lap. “Cas, what are you doing?”

“Dean!” Cas’ voice is loud, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t- I wasn’t… um.”

“Seriously, what’s up with you today?” Dean keeps his phone in the air and thinks that Cas is looking like a blue-eyed deer in headlights. “C’mon, Cas. Spill.”

“Dean,” Cas sounds frustrated. “It’s nothing to worry about. I simply need to go to the store and-”

“Why? Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m not- I just have to purchase something.”

“Yeah, I get that, Cas. But what were you cookin’ up in your secret lair over there?”

“It’s not a secret lair, Dean. It was my lap.”

“Okay. So tell me, then, if it isn’t a secret.”

Cas runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it. “Would it kill you to let yourself be surprised for once?”

Dean blinks, caught off guard. “I hate surprises, Cas. You know that.”

Cas’ features soften at his reply, and there’s another, more martyred sigh before he says, “You can be rather high maintenance, Dean.”

“What?” Dean practically splutters. “You think I’m high maintenance?”

But Cas is already smiling, a tiny twitch of his lips. “I said you _can_ be.” He reaches a hand into the space between his seat and the door, pulling out the canvas bag that’s now wrinkled from being shoved around. He puts a hand inside to lift out the contents, a soft-looking clump that he places onto his lap. He runs his fingers over it carefully then says, “I needed to buy more yarn.”

“Yarn?” Dean tilts his phone toward Cas’ hands, and his chest tightens when he sees that there are-

“I’m knitting socks for you.” Cas moves the needles around so he can show Dean the one that’s finished. “They’re wool, and each pair is a different color.”

“Cas…” The words seem to lodge in his throat, and overall Dean just feels like a total dick.

“Sam bought the needles and yarn for me,” Cas says. “But I had to start over a few times and… wasted a portion of the supplies. And I was afraid that if I didn’t buy more today, I wouldn’t have them done for you by Christmas.”

“Cas,” Dean says again. He knows he looks silly, still holding up his phone, but he’s finding it impossible to tear his eyes away from Cas’ smile. “Cas, you don’t need to finish them by Christmas.”

Cas frowns, though mostly out of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean, I know that you’re making ‘em for me, and I’m- It’s amazing, Cas. Really. So even if they aren’t done by Christmas or whatever, that doesn’t matter. I’ve already gotten your, you know. Your sentiment.”

Cas’ expression shifts then, and Dean can’t tell whether he’s relieved or happy or what. He’s beautiful though. “I have a pair in here I already made. Would you… like to try them on?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles back. “Yeah, definitely.”

The socks that Cas hands him are dark grey and plush, warming him everywhere, from his feet all the way up to his heart. Cas is wide-eyed the entire time, like he can’t believe that they fit so well, and he looks so pleased when Dean says “I love them” that Dean has to lean over the console and hug the angel to his chest, till he’s breathless.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

They climb into the backseat when Dean gets tired again, and Cas sits by the door so Dean can lie down and rest his head in Cas’ lap. Cas cards his fingers through Dean’s hair until he falls asleep, and Dean is warm throughout the night, even warmer when he wakes up to Cas’ smile.

The storm passes and the roads clear up, and they make it to Walmart for yarn and veggies and pie. And when their cashier peers at them and says, “You two make an adorable couple,” Dean tells her “Thank you” and grins at where his and Cas’ hands are clasped together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for caswinxester's prompt on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/106086653080/dean-cas-knitting): "its christmas and team free will together and cas tries to knit dean socks and when they try to go get stuff to knit dean and cas get stuck in the impala in the middle of a snowstorm…"
> 
> Merry Christmas Eve! Subscribe to the fic for the final chapter update tomorrow. Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


	12. Sledding

The thing about Cas, is that he’s devastatingly hot when he gets competitive.

It’s the whole package, really, from his cheeks stained pink to his eyes, glinting and focused. He’ll push his hands through his hair, messing it up in a delicious way, and his voice, while always low, will grow growly and rough until Dean has to kiss him quiet. Such a trial.

So, okay, maybe Dean takes advantage of this from time to time, like by making two stupid bets instead of one, or by adding the word “strip” to every card game they ever play, ever. But honestly, Cas is just too damn attractive when he’s riled up, so who could blame Dean for occasionally taking matters into his own hands to see more of it.

Which brings them here, perched side by side atop a snowy hill in central Idaho.

“You really think you can beat me, Cas?” Dean grins at the angel as he clutches the reins on his sled. “‘Cause you could always forfeit, babe. I’d understand.”

Cas smiles back, smug and wolfish and god, Dean wants to kiss him. “I’ll be fine, Dean. You forget that I’ve flown through hurricanes. This is child’s play.”

“Hey, it’s cheating to use your wings!”

Cas smirks. “Thought you were invincible.”

Dean sighs and waves his hand in a ‘fine, go ahead’ kind of gesture. He hears the telltale flutter of Cas’ massive wings opening up on his back, and although Dean can’t see them, he can still feel their power strumming through the air. “Sure you don’t need a head start?” he asks sweetly.

Cas growls “No” and it distracts him so much that Dean nearly gives him one anyway.

The first few runs are close, the snow spraying everywhere as they race. Sam even comes over to watch one and cheers for Cas, but ends up lobbing snowballs at them equally when they stop halfway up the hill to kiss. 

“You’re the worst!” Sam complains loudly. Cas yells back “We know!” and uses his wings to block the attack.

“Race you one more time?” he whispers after Sam stalks off dramatically. His breath is warm against Dean’s cheek and Dean snuggles a bit closer, drawing out a laugh.

“Your wings aren’t too tired?” Dean hums playfully, and when he pulls back his heartbeat stutters at the mischief in Cas’ eyes. “I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ then.”

“You’d be correct.” Cas smiles, leading him by the hand to the hill’s crest, his other hand hauling their sleds by the reins. He shakes the snow out of Dean’s sled before setting it down, then moves a few feet away so he won’t accidentally jostle Dean with his wings during their race.

The run starts out like the others, the snow soft enough for them to glide easily and pick up speed. The wind feels refreshing crossing his face and Dean is happy, glad that they took the time off to come here.

He should’ve remembered, of course, that letting your mind wander while you sled is a bad idea. He realizes this too late, after his sled bumps into a bush, and he’s quickly knocked out of his seat into the air.

It happens so suddenly that he doesn’t have the chance to find purchase as he falls. When he lands, however, a few short seconds later, it isn’t on the snow like he expected, but rather on Cas’ chest.

“Dean? Dean, are you alright?” Cas is currently pinned between Dean and the ground, blue eyes wide and staring through his lashes. Concern has driven all the impish teasing out of his expression, and his hands are broad and steady where they’ve come to rest in the dip of Dean’s back.

“Yeah.” Dean lifts a hand to brush some of the snow out of Cas’ hair. “Thanks for catching me.”

“You’re not hurt?” Cas tightens his hold of Dean’s waist, as though the wind would take Dean away if he let go. It’s silly, not to mention overprotective, but it makes Dean smile all the same because it’s- It’s so like Cas.

“No, I’m good.” Dean leans down until the tips of their noses brush, pink from the cold. “See?” he murmurs quietly, before capturing Cas’ lips with his own. “I can kiss you just fine.”

“You don’t let much get in the way of that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re such an ass.” He nips at Cas’ jaw in retaliation and Cas releases a soft groan, asking if they could please move this into the cabin, to a bed.

“Think I saw a hot tub on the patio,” Dean suggests into the crook of Cas’ neck. He misses neither the slight hitch of breath nor the gravelly “Even better” that Cas kisses into his shoulder.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The tub is huge, probably large enough for six people, at least. There’s snow piled up around it but Cas takes off the cover effortlessly, and Dean shuffles over to turn on the jets while Cas begins to remove his jacket and boots.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says reverently, after they’ve both stripped and climbed into the water.

“It does feel nice,” Cas mumbles in agreement, and Dean’s smile is sort of shy when Cas wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

Dean tucks himself against Cas’ side, warm and content and certain that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Cas then curls his fingers under Dean’s chin, tilting his head up, and they look at each other for a long moment before Cas kisses him, brimming with affection.

It’s a great kiss, the kind that makes you lose track of time, and when it’s over, Dean is dazed, his eyes half-lidded as he wonders, “What was that for?” It’s spoken softly, far from a complaint, and Dean feels his chest tighten at the adoration in Cas’ smile.

“I always want to kiss you,” Cas says, and that’s so like him too, raw and honest, unfiltered emotion, all for Dean.

Their eyes are still locked and Dean doesn’t look away, not anymore, thinks that Cas looks really gorgeous like this, hair wet and tousled, his skin completely touchable. 

“Cas, you know I’m crazy about you, right?”

“Dean…” Cas breathes out, surprised, but then beams so beautifully that Dean just has to kiss him again.

There’s more heat this time, more passion, and Dean keeps sighing Cas’ name and pressing close. He wraps his arms around Cas’ neck, fingers threading through the hair at the base of his skull. His lips seem to tingle when they pull apart again, smiling and breathless, and they revel in what they have now, how far they’ve come.

“It’s Christmas soon,” Dean murmurs happily.

Cas chuckles and drops a kiss to his forehead. “Is there something you would like?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember the last time we even took a break like this, so… I’m pretty much set, I think. What about you?”

Cas peers back seriously as if he’s never considered the question before. Maybe he hasn’t. “I’d like to be with you like this,” he says eventually, “for as many days as we can manage.”

“… That’s a lot to ask of Santa.”

“Is it?” Cas replies indulgently, like he can see past the teasing and hear Dean’s heart hammering away in his chest. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to make do without his help.”

“D’you think-” Dean finds Cas’ hand below the water and holds it tight. “You really believe in… in this? In us?”

Cas’ smile doesn’t falter for an instant. “I do.”

Dean lets out a soft breath and melts against Cas’ side, smiling when he feels the angel’s lips caress his cheek. He relaxes into the touch, sitting there in the arms of his soulmate, his best friend. And what Dean cannot see in that moment, though he senses them, are Castiel’s magnificent wings curling around him in an embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for sleighbelljensen's and soredean's prompts on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/106162558180/dean-cas-sledding): They asked for Dean and Cas going sledding (with touches of competitiveness and wings, respectively).
> 
> Today marks the end of my "12 Days of Destiel" project, which is very exciting and I wish everyone who celebrates a Merry Christmas!
> 
> Please take a moment to leave me kudos, comments, and love, and I hope your holidays are joyful, safe, and warm. :)
> 
>  **For everyone on Tumblr:** Here is a [master post](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/106252838708/christmas-is-over-but-my-teeth-rotting-fluff-is) of all the fics!


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